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Golden Plough 


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THE 


BY PAUL MERRITT 



A NEW AND ENTIRELY 
ORIGINAL MELO-DRAMATIC 


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1 


ROMANCE 
IN FOUR ACTS 


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— 

1 ! 

COPYRIGHT 1910 BY J. B, RICHARDSON 

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The Golden Plough 

J. B. RICHARDSON 

ORION, ILL. 


Notice. 

rp HE professional acting rights of this 

. play are reserved by J. B. Richardson 

from whom written permission must 
be obtained before performance. All per- 

sons giving unauthorized productions will 

1 * » 

be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. 


(TCI.D 21951 









the golden plough. 


ACT 1. 

Scene— u The Garden of the Golden Plough ; ” hedge running 
across stage at back. Arch cut in l. c. of hedge, being entrance 
to Bowling Green. Door or gate in arch, which remains 
open. The words u Bowling Green” over the entrance, l , 
back of the Golden Plough, l. 1 e. House covered with 
ivy. Old fashioned door, l. 2 e. Large low bay window; 
above bay window, window of bedroom, R. Back of old 
cottage, r. 1 e. Door with verandah, and in front of 
verandah, large flat stone on stage ; c. of stage, large tree 
with spreading branches. Garden scat at base of tree; 
old fashioned seats, and rustic table, with tinder-box, long 
pipe, cO c., placed by hedge at back. General appearonce oj 
quaint old inn gardens. Lively music to raise curtain, 
u The M°n of Merry England.” Jerry Drake heard to 
laugh within at bach. Tlie laugh is a h arty, chuckling, 
unctuous, good-humoured one. “Ha! ha! ha! Oh! oh! 
oli!” Enter Tom Carroll (arch, l. c. of hedge) , followed by 
J erry Drake both drawing on their coats; they are supposed 
to have been playing at bowls. Tom Carroll has a horsey 
farmer look; Jehry Drake is a jolly, good looking, hearty 
fellow, ivith a comfortable, easy going air. Well, but plainly 

dressed; iron grey wig. 


Hedge. 


Door. 


□ 

□ V □ Ru> tic Table and Cha'rs. 


f’ott.i'e D *<r with XXX Tree 
/ Y iai etb. wi h Seat at base. 


Large Stone Fla 
on Stage. 






Tom. Well, you are a wonder, Mr. Drake—a perfect 
marvel! You play bowls as Jiin Smithson plays the fiddle at 
church on Sundays. A good start to commence with ami 
lengths ahead at the finish. 











4 


THE GOLDEN PLOUGH. 


Jer. Ha ! ha ! lia ! Oh ! oli! oh ! You flatter me, my 
friend, you flatter me. 

Tom. Not a bit of it. Ecod ! T shall never look at a bowl 
again as long as I live but I shall think of you. 

Jer. (r. c.) Ha ! ha ! ha ! Oh ! oh ! oh ! Talking about 
bowls suggests the flowing bowl—Eli ? Ha ! ha ! ha ! Oh ! 
oh ! oh ! What do you say to a jug of Mrs. Royal’s October 
brew, eh? Prime tipple, isn’t it? Cools the throat and 
warms the heart. Snow and fire blended. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
Oh ! oh ! ch• 

Tom. (l. c.) What a jolly fellow you are, Mr. Drake. 
I was counted the lightest-hearted fellow in the village 
but that laugh of yours has taken the wind out of my sails. 
And Joe Trimmer, the mider, he was as gay and merry a lad 
as ever whistled a lively air on a bright spring morning, but 
you beat even him. Poor Joe ! I’ll warrant he looks sad 
enough to-day, as he stands in the dock at the York Assizes. 
I don’t believe he is guilty. I know him too well to imagine 
that possible for one moment, (noise of wheels heard off, L.) 
ITulloa! Somebody driving up to the inn—can’t be the 
Doctor and the runner nturned from the Assizes yet. ( goes 
up stage and tools off through arch) Yes, yes —there they are. 
(calls off') Hi 1 Mr. Middleton ! Doctor Jordan ! (comes 
down to Jerry) All right, they are coming across the bowling 
green, (music) 

Enter Doctor Jordan and Alfred Middleton, c., through 

arch. 

Tom. (r.c.) Well, well, Doctor, what is the news ? 

Doc. (l.c.) Bad enough, Tom, bad enough. 

Tom. You don’t mean to say, Doctor, that they have found 
him guilty ? 

Mid. (l.) Yes, he lias been sentenced to death. 

Tom. It’s a shame ; it’s a sin. 

Mid. Don’t forget, Tom Carroll, that he has been tried by 
twelve honest men, and an impartial judge. 

Tom. A fig for the twelve honest men and the impartial 
judge ! I say he is innocent. 

Doc. So do I. 

Mid. (crossing, c.) Explain away these facts and I’ll agree 
with you both. Fact number one: The Squire’s housekeeper 
saw a man leap over the garden hedge, and run in the direc¬ 
tion of the mill. She swears that he wore a miller’s frock, 
and, to the best of her belief, chat man was Joe Trimmer. 
Fact number two: A knife was stolen from this very house, 
“ The Colden Plough,” a few nights before the crime was 
committed. You yourself said in the witness-box you had no 


TilE GOLDEN PLOUGH. 


5 


dotibt that the fatal wound was inflicted with such a knife ; 
and it is proved that on the night in question Joe Trimmer 
was here at a Lodge supper. Fact number three : The 
gardener, hearing noises in the Squire’s room, ran to it, 
and found the door locked, but he heard the following words. 
The Squire said: “ You villaii, I know you now,” and a 
voice replied: “ You shall never live to tell the truth.” That 
voice, the gardener swears, was Joe Trimmer’s. 

Doc. Nevertheless, through thick and thin, I stick to 
my original opinion—Joe is innocent. What do you say, 
Mr. Drake? 

Jer. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Oh ! oh ! oh ! Bless my soul! What 
can I say ? Except that 1 am very sorry for him, sorry for 
his sweetheart, sorry, very sorry for his po »r old mother, 
who is left destitute ; and if a subscription is started for her, 
I’ll put d- wn £5 at least. I’ll send it when I get back to 
London. I think I shall be off to-morrow. Everybody here 
seems to be so dreadfully cut up about the miller that I can’t 
laugh heartily, and where I can’t laugh, I can’t live. 

Mid. So, you reside in London, Mr. Drake ? 

Jer. ( crossing , c.) Yes, sir, London is my home—gay Lon¬ 
don, busy London, wealthy London, jolly London. Ha ! 
ha ! ha ! Oh ! oh ! oh ! That’s the place for me ! 

Mid. May I inquire in which part of London you reside? 

Jer. Oh, I’m a thorough Bohemian—a wanderer. Some¬ 
times I live in Canonbury, sometimes in Clapham, some¬ 
times in St. Oiles’s, and sometimes in St. James’s. Oh ! 
oh ! oh ! 

Mid. Surely you have some head-quarters ? 

Jer. Oh ! oh ! oh ! How you runners like to ferret out 
everything about everybody. I have a favourite tavern, sir, 
and it is the “ Merry Mourns,” in CJerkenwell, where I meet 
choice spirits like myself. Oh, sir, if you have any venera¬ 
tion for the Roast Beef of Old England, let me recommend 
to you the “ Merry Momus.” There you get a joint you re- 
membtr with reverence to <he day of your death. Juicy as 
a ripe orange, tender as a lover’s smile. Ha ! ha ! ha ! A 
sunset of beef amidst clouds of fleecy fat. Oh ! oh ! oh ! 
As for potatoes, you have the mealy tubers, flowery as May 
bowers after April showers, and wines—oh ! oh ! oh ! Port 
of the first great vintage after the Flood, generous as a spend¬ 
thrift, crusty as a miser. Oh ! oh ! oh ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! a 
drink for gods. Mortals should only sip, pause, and wonder. 
Oh ! oh ! oh ! Name the day, and I'll give you a banquet at 
the “Merry Momus.” 

Mid. Don’t be afraid but I’ll avail myself of your invita- 


t5 


THE GOLDEN PLOUGH. 


tion. I must just step inside and see if any letters have 
come for me during my absence. 

(Going towards Inn, crosses l.) 

Doc. If you should see Mrs. Royal, tell her I am in the 
garden, and wish to speak with her. 

Mid. Certainly, Doctor, certainly. 'Exit into Inn ) 

Doc. I have good news for Mrs. Royal. 

Jer. That’s the style, Doctor, good tidings make the 
heart glad. 

Doc. Well, I think she will be pleased to hear the news I 
have for her, and Mrs. Royal is a lady I like to serve, for 
she is an example to all the landladies in Hie world. When 
you enter the “Golden Plough” you feel that you are 
entering a home ; when you raise your hat A the hostess you 
are conscious that you are saluting a lady. 

Jer. (r.c.) Ila ! ha ! ha ! Doctor. I do believe that you are 
smitten. Oh ! oh ! oh ! 

Doc. (l.c.) Well, sir, what if I am ? Mrs. Royal is a very 
superior woman. More fitted to be a lady of the land than a 
landlady. Egad, sir, if I were a King, I’d make her a 
^ueeh. 

Jer. Ha ! ha ! ha ! And if I were an Emperor, I’d outbid 
you and make her an Empress. Oh ! oh ! oh ! 

Doc. ’Poll my soul, laughing again. 

Enter Martin Preston, r. 1 e. door in verandah. He is 
a young man with calm, and, serious manner, dressed as 
a clergyman. lie has a pah jdee, and wears long flaxen 
hair. 

Mar. Mr. Drake always laughs. 

Jer. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Is that you, Mr. Schoolmaster '! With 
equal truth I can say the Reverend Mai tin Preston never 
laughs. 

Mar. Fora very good reason. I find nothing to laugh at. 

Jer. On the contrary, I find plenty. And 1 make haste 
to laugh, lest others make me cry. 

Enter May Royal from Inn, l. 

May. Ah, Doctor, my mother will be here directly. 

Doc. Why, my child, l ow pale you look. 

May. (l.) Yes, Doctor, the news has shocked us all so 
much, (then to Tom, to whom she has crossed,, ami who takes 
her in his arms tenderly) Oh, Tom, how will poor Alice Scott, 
Joe’s sweetheart, bear this terrible trouble l It will break 
her heart, I know it will, Tom. 

Tom. (r.) Ah, May, we used often to say that the four of 
us —you and I, Alice and Joe --would he married on the 
ame clay, in the same church, by the same person ; but 




THE GOLDEN PLOUGH. 


7 


unless Heaven steps in and puts things right, we shan’t 
have Joe’s company at the altar. 

May. Oh, Tom, if it ha l been our case instead of theirs, 
what should we have felt? 

Tom. Nay, nay, my lass, don’t talk like that ; though for 
that matter, if an honest lad like Joe can kill a fellow crea¬ 
ture, why shouldn’t I—or why shouldn’t anybody? Joe 
guilty ! I’d as soon think of suspecting Doctor Jordan, Martin, 
or our jolly friend Mr. Drake. 

Mrs. R. (i vithout) Doctor Jordan—Doctor Jordan, where 
are you ? (music) 

Doc. That’s her voice—music, sir, music. 

Jer. ( crosses to l., and off at door , l.) I knew he was 
smitten. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Oh ! oh ! oh ! 

Doc. Here, Mrs. Royal, here ! 

Enter Mrs. Royal, l. 1 e. 

Doc. Ah, there you are, charming as ever. 

Mrs. R. Save your praises, Doctor, for some one worthier 
of them. 

Doc. (r.) So I might, if I knew such an one ; but till I do 
you must let me lavish them on you, Mrs. Royal. 

Mrs. R. (l.) Mr. Middleton lias just told me that you 
wished to see me. 

Jerry returns with jug of ale and glasses and puts them 
on table at back. 

Doc. So I do, for I have good news for you. 

Mrs. R. (l. c.) Good news, like old friends, is always wel¬ 
come, Doctor. 

Doc. This will be welcome, I am sure. A candidate lias 
been nominated to contest this county. I was introduced to 
him at the Assizes. He is coming here this very day by the 
coach to commence working his cause, and I have recom¬ 
mended this house to him whilst he is in the neighbourhood. 
He told me to order dinner for five o’clock, with covers for 
eight. 

Mrs. R. Does he bring a party with him ? 

Doc. Not at all. He says he always likes to have a few 
places vacant for chance acquaintances. With him expense 
is nothing. 

Mrs. R. Fray, Doctor, who and what is he ? 

Doc. What is he? An English gentleman, and that, I take 
it, is the proudest distinction any man can aspire to ; and 
egad! I didn’t forget to tell him what he might expect in 
Mrs. Royal, I can assure you. 

Mrs. R. Oh, Doctor, I hope you haven’t said too much 
about me. 


8 


THE GOLDEN TLOUGH. 


Doc. Mrs. Royal, shew me the man that dares tell me that 
I can say too much about the hostess of the “ Golden 
Plough,” and, egad, I’ll put my professional dignity in my 
pocket and knock that man down, even if he were the 
candidate himself, baronet though he be ! 

May. {down, l., who has been listening) A baronet? 

Doc. Yes, my dear, and looks it every inch. Not one of 
your upstarts, but thorough bred as a race horse. He hasn’t 
a drop of blood in his veins without a pedigree, and he has 
the reputation of never having done a dishonourable action 
in his life. 

May. (r. c.) Oh, mother, just fancy, and he is going t» stay 
here—a real baronet too. We have never had anyone more 
important than a squire since l can remember. 

Mrs. R. (r.c. ) Ah, my dear May,in the old times— long, long 
ago now—princes and prelates have halted here ; in those days 
the u Golden Plough ” was the most noted hosteliy in all 
Yorkshire, and it was a custom, too, with the host <>r hostess 
to welcome distinguished guests by meeting them at 
the door, the hostess usually bearing the cup of welcome, and 
inviting the travellers to drink as guests before they entered 
the house as visitors. 

Jer. (r.) Ha ! ha ! ha ! Oh ! oh ! oL \ What a jolly 
old custom. If I had lived in those days I would have 
made a practice of riding up to the 11 Golden Plough” every 
afternoon of my life. Oh ! oh ! oh ! 

Doc. (r.) Perhaps Mrs. Royal will revive the old custom 
in honour of Sir Francis Claude. 

Mrs. R. ( astonished ) Sir Francis Claude ! 

Mar. (rises from his seat, aside) Sir Francis Claude ! 

Doc. Yes, the candidate is Sir Francis Philip Claude, 
Baronet, of Belelaude Castle, Worcestershire, and of St. 
James’s, London ; and as sure as physic cures some people 
and kills others, we’ll return him at the head of the poll. 
He’ll be here soon, and I hope he won’t have to wait for his 
dinner, so, my dear, (to May) you had belter just say a few 
words to the co :>k. 

May. (l.c.) With pleasure, Doctor. 

Mrs. R. (r.c.) Stay, May. Doctor—I—I am afraid that 
we shall be unable to entertain this gentleman sufficiently 
well. 

Doc. Nonsense, Mrs. Royal, a prince could be made com¬ 
fortable at the “ Golden Plough,” let alone a baronet. 

Mrs. R. I feel sure, Doctor, he would be better pleased at 
the “ Red Lion.” 

Doc. Mys, Royal, if the 'Gql4en Plough” isn’t goo4 


Trip gold*, t Plough. 9 

enough for Sir Francis Claude, lie doesn’t have rny vote and 
interest, I can promise him. 

Mrs. R. IS ay, nay, Doctor, the objection is on my side. 

Doc. But what reason have you ( 

Mrs. It. ( gailii ) Surely, Doctor, you don't ask a woman 
fora reason ? But since you have been so kind, perhaps I 
owe you one. The commotion—the want of convenience- 

May. Oh, my dear mother, we have all our rooms vacant 
but one—Mr. Drake’s ; we have plenty of servants, too, and 
I myself will work like a Trojan. 

Doc. Come, come, Mrs. Royal, you must yield? 

Mrs. R. No, Doctor, no. 

Doc. I think you would have felt tempted to have such a 
customer if you had seen him, as I did, with a roll of notes 
as latge as my hat. 

Jer. A roll of notes as large as a hat. Ha ! ha! ha ! And 
coming down on election business. Oh ! oh ! oh ! Bribery 
and corruption. Oh ! oh ! oh ! 

Doc. He absolutely rolls in money, they say. 

Tom. (l.) Money, eh, May? We want some more before 
we can think seriously of housekeeping. 

(Exeunt Tom and May into Inn, l.) 

Mar. (r.) Money ! Money would have bought from the 
old Squire that which he had not the justice to give. 

Doc. (c.) By-the-bye, Martin, I had better tell you myself 
what I was compelled to say about you at the Assizes to-day. 

Mrs. R. (r. c., anxiously) Something you said about 
Martin, Doctor ? 

Doc. Now don’t be uneasy, Mrs. Royal, it is really 
nothing, only tale-bearers might make it much, so I prefer 
to explain the matter personally. I w r as on my oath, conse¬ 
quently compelled to tell the truth, even though what 1 said 
might sound a little against Martin ; yet everyone knows that 
our young friend could not possibly be implicated in the 
Squire’s death. 

Mrs. R. In the name of Heaven, Doctor, what do you 
mean 1 

Mar. ( crosses , c. ) Pray be calm, Mrs. Royal; there can be 
no cause for uneasiness, I am sure. Pray be calm. 

Mrs. R. 1L-) Ah, Martin, everyone does not possess your 
self-command. 

Mar. (c.) Proceed, Doctor, avo wre listening. 

Doc. (r.) You must understand that the counsel for Joe 
Trimmer asked me if I knew of anyone who harboured any 
spite against the old Squire. I replied, “No.” Then lie 
inquired if I knew anyone whom the old Squire had in any 
wuy injured- 





10 


rHE GOLDEN PLOUGH. 


Mar. And you answered “ Yes?” 

Mrs. R. I think it very unfair, Doctor, to drag Martin’s 
name into the trial. 

Mar. Whilst I, on the contrary, Mrs. Royal, think it was 
only just. Doctor, you did your duty if you told the Court 
that the late Squire promised me, if 1 would officiate during 
his son’s illness, he would present me with the living when 
it should become vacant. When bis son suddenly died, he 
sold the living, and coolly told me lie had reconsidered the 
matter. For a little gold lie broke his solemn word. Within 
two months he was murdered for the sake of the very money 
he loved so well. Ah! the old Sauire was a true martyr. 

Doc. How so ? 

Mar. Did he not die defending his god ? 

Doc. True, Martin, but somewhat bitter ! ( goes up and 
joins Tom, who returns from Inn, then turns to Jerry) Come, 
Mr. Drake, just one game at bowls to pass away the time 
until Sir Francis Claude arrives ; remember you Avon the 
last match, and promised me my revenge. 

Jer. {up, l.) Revenge on a harmless felloAv like me sound? 
strange—very strange. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Oh ! oh ! ch ! 

Doc. Come, Tom, and see fair play. And you, Martin, 
will you join us ? 

Doctor, Jerry, and Tom exeunt through arch , 

Mar. With pleasure, Doctor, with pleasure, {going up to 
follow ) 

Mrs. R. {stopping him) Martin ! 

Mar. {returning) Yes, Mrs. Royal. 

Mrs. R. \on do not harbour any animosity against the 
old Squire? 

Mar. I cannot forget that he was unjust. 

Mrs. R. It is a poor heart that cannot forgive the dead. 

Mar. Oh, I forgave him long since. 

Mrs. R. That’s right, Martin ; I knetv you were not one to 
nurse a wrong. Still I have observed that something is 
deeply grieving you. 

Mar. I have not complained. 

Mrs. R. ISo, Martin, you would ne\ r er complain; but 
beneath your outward calm, I can detect a hidden, wearing 
grief. Tell me, Martin, what is it? 

Mar. A liy should I troublo you, Mrs. Royal, with my 
sorrows ? 

Mrs R. Because, Martin, from your early childhood I 
have taken a deep interest in your welfare ; in e\'erything 
that concerns you I feel more than interest, more than aflec^ 
tion ; I feel love, maternal love. 

Mail Truly, Mrs. Royal, you have been a mother to me. 


THE GOLDEN rLOUGII. 


11 


To you I owe everything, my early removal from the Found¬ 
ling. my education, my two years at college, my prefix of 
Reverend, and some day, my dear, good friend, I trust to 
repay you in some measure 

Mrs. It. I shall be sufficiently repaid, Martin, if in all 
tilings you give me your confidence. 

Mar. I will confide in you, Mrs. Royal. The heart which 
is a locked book to others you shall read. (They go up to tree, 
and sit) During the time I was in London I was introduced 
to a young lady of excellent qualities and rare talents. I 
loved her—to use an old phrase —at first sight, and I soon 
found, to my joy, that she reciprocated my passion. When 
I aslied her if I might one day hope to call her my wife, she 
told me that she had promised her dead father that she 
Avould not marry without her uncle’s consent. But she as¬ 
sured me that her uncle’s consent could be easily obtained, 
provided the man she loved was a gentleman of fair fame and 
good family. I told her—ah ! wl at it cost me to tell her — 
that I was a foundling, perchance a child of shame; and then 
her blight face clouded, her eyes filled with tears. “I love 
you, you alone, Martin/’ she said, “ but whilst my uncle lives 
our love is hopeless. I promise you, however, if ever I ain 
free to give my hand, it shall be you v s.” Mrs. Royal, it 
may be wicked, nay', it is very wicked of me, who am a 
minister of the Gospel, but I sometimes think if that uncle of 
hers were lo die, I should not waste time in regrets at his 
decease, (rises). 

Mrs. R. Is her uncle an old man ? 

Mar, I have never seen him, but Dr. Jordan described 
him very glowingly. 

Mrs. R. When ? 

Mar. To-day. His name is Sir Francis Claude. 

Mrs. R. (aside) Strange fatality, (aloud) And you love 
this lady very much ? 

Mar. Very much. 

Mrs. R. Martin, to-day you will have an opportunity to 
speak to Sir Francis Claude; ask him boldly for his consent. 

Mar. Useless, Mrs. Royal, useless. 

Mrs. R. I fiave never advised you wrongly ? 

Mar. Never. 

Mrs. R. Then trust my counsel this time. 

Mar. As you wish, be it then. 

Mrs. R. That’s right. Remember, faint heart never won 
fair lady. 

Mar. My heart is not faint, and the lady is won already. 

Jer. (wittout) Ha ! ha! ha ! 

Mar. Mr. Drake with his everlasting laugh. 


12 


THE GOLDEN PLOUGH. 


Enter Doctor, Tom, and Jerry through arch. 

Jer. Oh ! oh ! oh ! 

Doc. Yes, yes ; those who win have a right to laugh. 

Mrs. R. (r. c.) Doctor ! I think after all we shall be able 
to receive Sir Francis Claude. 

Doc. (l.) I should think so indeed. I fancied you would 
not let such a customer slip through your fingers. May is 
already making preparations in anticipation of your assent. 
(post horn heard in the distance, L. Gradually grows nearer) 
Ha ! here comes the York mail ! He will be here directly. 
I’ll bring him through the bowling green, and by this 
entrance, so that he may dine comfortably before all the 
village knows of his arrival. And you, Mrs. Royal, for once 
revive the old custom, present the welcome cup at the door ; 
it will be a pleasure and a surprise to him. ( exit through door) 

Mrs. R. Perhaps a greater surprise than pleasure. So, 
Francis Claude and I shall meet once more. I would have 
avoided this meeting but Martin’s happiness is at stake, and 
that consideration with me is paramount. Martin fears dis¬ 
appointment ; I prophesy success, for where he fails, I may 
succeed, (post horn loiuler) Thank Heaven, I am forewarned. 

(Exit into Inn ) 

Mar. (aside) He will refuse my request as surely as the 
old Squire broke his promise. Well, when the old Squire 
confessed his treachery, I did not let him know that I was 
moved ; and though Sir Francis Claude’s words may be 
daggers in m}' heart, he shall not see me wince, (music) 

Doc. (without) This way, Sir Francis, this way ! 

Enter May and Middleton from Inn. J erry and Tom 
stand ready, r.„ to receive Sir Francis as he enters , 
preceded by Dr. Jordan. Sir Francis is a good look¬ 
ing man of 45 to 50 , fair hair, frank, genial manner ; 
long light overcoat, fair wig. three-cornered hat, ribbon, 
knots to boots. 

May. Oh, Mr. Middleton, isn’t he good looking? 

Mid. Very ! 

May. And a baronet too. 

Mid. He looks like an Emperor. 

Doc. Welcome, Sir Francis. Welcome to the ancient vil¬ 
lage of Kingscroft. 

Sir F. (l. c.) Thank you, Doctor, thank you. Pray in¬ 
troduce me to your friends. 

Doc. (r. c.) Certainly. This is Tom Carroll, a capital horse- 
trainer, and a splendid fellow. Comes off a good stock, 
without vice. He has a county vote, too ; haven’t you, 
Tom ? 


THE GOLDEN fLOUGtt. 


13 


Tom. (r.) Yes ; and I know liow to use it, Doctor. 

Sir F. Happy to know you, Mr. Carroll, (shakes him by 
the hand) and I liopo you will honour me with the vote you 
Know how to use so well. (Tom goes up) 

Doc. The Reverend Martin Preston, Sir Francis Claude. 

Sir F. The—the Vicar ? 

Mar. No —the schoolmaster ! 

Sir F. Indeed. I trust, sir, I snail receive your vote and 
influence ? 

Mar. (r.c.) My influence, yes. My vote, no. 

Sir F. (l. c.) You reserve that for my opponent ? 

Mar. I regret to say I am not qualified to vote for county 
members. 

Sir F. I regret it also, Mr. Preston, believe me. 

Mar. Genial and pleasant enough, but I suppose these are 
his public manners, (takes book from his pocket , sits under 
verandah , and reads. Sir Francis turns and faces Jerry 

Drake) 

Jer. ( coming down, r.) Ha ! ha ! ha ! Oh ! oh ! oh ! 

Sir F. (surprised) And this gentleman? 

Jer. (r. ) Not a voter. Ha ! ha 1 ha ! Not a voter, only a 
visitor at the “ Golden Plough,” hut so far as my personal 
services are concerned, command them, pray command them, 
for they are yours, Sir Francis, they are yours. Oh ! oh ! oh! 

Sir F. I am infinitely obliged, believe me. 

Doc. (coming down ) This gentleman is Mr. Alfred Middle- 
ton, the celebrated B<»w Street runner. 

Sir F. (r. c.) Delighted to meet you, Mr. Middleton, your 
fame and talents are well known. 

Mid. (l.) They must be since you hare heard of them, 
Sir Francis. 

Sir F. Heard of them ! The world, Mr. Middleton, has 
heard of them. (Middleton goes up) And pray who is this 
charming young lady ? (turning to May) 

Doc. This, Sir Francis, is May Royal. 

Sir F. (c.) The hostess’s daughter? 

Tom. Yes, Sir Francis ; and Mrs. Tom Carroll that is to 
be. 

Sir F. Mr. Carroll, you are a fortunate man. 

May. (aside to Tom) Oh, Tom, what a nice gentleman he 
is. (Tom and May v.irn up) 

Doc. (r. c.) And now, Sir Francis, the hostess of the 
Golden Plough will revive on this occasion, and in your 
honour, an ancient custom of the house. 

Sir F. (c.) Indeed, what is that? 

Doc. (r.) The old custom of presenting a cup of welcome 


14 


THE GOLDEN PLOUGH. 


at the door to a distinguished traveller. ( music, u When 
first I saw your face”) 

Enter Mrs. Royal from house, l. 1 e , bearing on a 
tray an old fashioned Worcestershire ware “ loving ” cup. 
Sir Francis has his bach turned to Inn, facing Doctor, 
w ho is r. Sir Francis, o ; Mrs. Royal, l. ; others 
filling up background. 

Sir F. (c) Really, Doctor, that custom is almost Eastern, 
and quite romantic ; it augurs well for the cause of a candi¬ 
date who upholds old institutions as the best and safest. 
Customs like these, Doctor, take one back years and years. 
You are an antiquarian, Doctor ; how many years shall we 
say ? 

Mrs. R. (l.) Say twenty years, Sir Francis Claude. 

Sir F. ( turns suddenly, and in amazement exclaims, aside) 
Grace Goodman ! 

Mrs. R. ( very calmly ) Sir Francis Claude, I offer you this 
cup as a token that you are welcome at the u Golden 
Plough.” 

Sir F. I thank you, Mrs.—Mrs. Royal ( takes cup from 
her hands ) 

Doc. Take care, Sir Francis, your hand trembles ; and 
that, I can assure you, is an historical cup of rare Worces¬ 
tershire ware. Is it not, Mrs. Royal ? 

Mrs. R. An antiquity like this resembles a woman’s heart, 
since when it is broken it loses its value and its charm. But, 
Sir Francis, the cup, I know, is safe from harm in your hands, 
as no doubt is a woman’s heart. Pray drink, Sir Francis, in 
honour of the old custom. 

Sir F. ( raises cup, sips, and returns it to Mrs. Roy t al, who 
hands it to May. May takes cup into house, l. 1 e.) I thank 
you, Mrs. Royal, for your welcome, {music stops) 

Doc. {to Sir Francis) Sir Francis, did I say a word too 
much ? 

Sir F. Not one, Doctor, not one. 

lie-enter May from Inn. 

May. Oh, mother, may I speak to you? 

Mrs. R. What is ic, my child ? 

May. (l.) I want you to see if the table is properly laid, 
and all the servants are so dreadfully anxious. 

Mrs. R. You see, my darling, it is not often that we have 
so distinguished a visitor at the “Golden Plough ” as Sir 
Francis Claude. 

{Exit into Inn, l. 1 e. May is about to follow) 

Sir F. Oh, Miss—Miss Royal 1 









THE GOLDEN PLOUGH. 


15 


May. ( returning ) Yes, Sir Francis. 

Sir F. (r.) I believe you were introduced to me as Mrs. 
lioyal’s daughter? 

May. (l.) Yes, I am May Royal. 

Sir F. May Royal ? A very pretty name. 

May. I am glad you admire it, Sir Francis. 

Sir F. And, if it is not a rude question, what age are you ? 

May. But it is a very rude question to ask a lady her age. 

Sir F. (i laughs ) True. How many brothers and sisters 
have you ? Is that a rude question ? 

May. I have not any brothers or sisters. 

Sir F. None dead either? 

May. No. I am my mother’s only child. 

Sir F. Do you remember Mr. Royal ? 

May. Mr. Royal—do you mean my father? 

Sir F. Yes, your—your father. 

May. No, not at all; mother never speaks of him. 

Sir F. I believe I was told that you are promised in mar¬ 
riage to Mr. Carroll ? 

May. Ah, yes—Tom, dear, dear Tom. 

Sir F. Suppose now you might marry a richer man ! 

May. I wouldn’t marry anybody but Tom. Oh, you should 
see him on horseback ; he looks just like a Roman general. 

Sir F. Indeed ! And when are you and Tom Carroll likely 
to be married ? 

May. As soon as Tom has saved a lot of money ; it’s a 
dreadful amount—£100, I think. 

Sir. F. ( laughing ) Dear me, quite a fortune. And you are 
sure you would be happy with Tom ? 

May. Quite sure, for he has promised never to contradict 
me. 

Sir F. Very admirable arrangement, my dear May —I 
should say, Miss Royal. 

May. Oh, call me May, I like it. 

Sir. F. What a pity you can’t give me a vote. 

May. I am sure I wish I could. 

Sir. F. Never mind ; give me what 1 shall value more—a 
kiss. ( snatches a kiss ) 

Tom. (r., rising, and coming down ) Hulloa ! liulloa ! what 
is that ? 

May runs into Inn, l. 1 e. 

Sir F. The usual thing done by Parliamentary candidates, 
1 can assure you. 

Tom. Oh, if it is the usual thing- 

Jer. (r.) Certainly it is. Ha ! ha ! ha ! M.P.’s privi¬ 
lege, my boy. Oh ! oh ! oh ! (L)own, R.o.) 







16 


tllE GOLDEN PLOUGH. 


SirF. (c.) I understand, Mr. Carroll, that the sum of £100 
would be very useful to you. 

Tom. (l. c.) Indeed it would, Sir Francis, for that is the 
amount of the mortgage on my little homestead, owing to the 
Bank at York. When that is paid off I intend to be married 
to May Royal. You see I don’t believe in people com¬ 
mencing married life in debt, Sir Francis. 

Sir F. Neither do I, Mr. Carroll, and I shall be very 
happy indeed, for reasons of my own, to make you a present 
of the sum in question so that you can start fair at once. 

Tom. No, no, Sir Francis ; I have no claim on you fo* 
gifts. 

Sir F. Very well then, we will call it a loan, without 
interest, repayable just when you like. Now I’ll hear of no 
objections ; and all I ask is a favour in return. 

Tom. A favour ! What favour can I do you, Sir 
Francis ? 

Sir F. Sitmply not to mention this loan until after the 
election, as the transaction might be looked upon as a bribe ; 
whilst it is only a friendly action to a young fellow and his 
sweetheart. In a word, let it remain a profound secret for 
the present 

Tom. A r ery well, Sir Francis, it shall. I will only tell 
May. 

Sir. F. Only teil May ! So that’s your idea of keeping a 
secret, Tom Carroll ! ( laughs ) No, don’t tell even May. And 
now, when are you going next to York? 

Tom. A horse fair is held there to-morrow, so I leave here 
to-night on a young colt I have to sell. I shall put him up 
all night at York, and have him fresh for the fair in the 
morning. 

Sir F. Fortunately I have sufficient money with me. 
Come to my room to-night before you start. 

Tom. Thank you, Sir Francis, thank you. 

Enter Doctor from bowling green. 

Doc. You must excuse them, Sir Francis, you must excuse 
them. 

Sir F. Excuse whom, Doctor? 

Doc. The villagers. They have heard that you are here. 
They have got the band together, and insist upon playing 
dining dinner, {enter Mrs. Royal, l. 1b.) They only wait 
to know w hat airs they shall play. 

Sir F. Anything they please. I have no choice. 

Doc. Then Mrs. Royal shall choose. 

Sir F. By all means. 



THE GOLDEN PLOUGH. 


17 


Doc. Pray, Mrs. Royal, make the selection. 

Mrs. R.(crosses,c.) The air must be one particularly in honour 
of, and in compliment to, our visitor, Sir Francis Claude, a 
gentleman of whom everyone speaks in admiration and with 
respect ; whose tastes and instincts are without reproach ; 
whose word is of more value than another’s bond, and whose 
life has been free from fraud and falsehood. Pray tell the 
musicians, Doctor, to play the “Fine Old English Gentle¬ 
man.” 

Doc. Capital ! capital ! ( goes up to arch , and looks off ) Hi! 
hi ! “ The Fine Old English Gentleman.” Play away ! 

Sir F. (aside, to Mrs. Royal) There is one thing you 
haven’t forgotten to mingle with the cup of welcome, Grace— 
wormwood ! 

Mrs. R. I can offer you no draught so bitter as that I 
drained at your command. ( crosses , r.) 

(Music: “ Fine Old English Gentleman ,” very piano to 
end, then swells out to curtain.) 

Enter May from Inn. 

May. Dinner is served, Sir Francis. 

Sir F. (r. c.) Doctor, will you dine with me? 

Doc. (l.) With pleasure, Sir Francis. 

Sir F. Mr. Carroll ? 

Tom. (l.) Nay, Sir Francis- 

Sir F. Nonsense. Miss May will, and I’m sure you will 
not desert her. Mr. Preston? 

Mar. (crosses, l., behind ) Really, Sir Francis, you are very 

kind. 

Sir F. Not at all ; the grace said by a clergyman gives the 
viands a choicer flavour. Mr, Drake ? 

Jer. What, I? Ha ! ha ! ha !—with pleasure—delighted, 
I’m .‘Uie. Oh ! oh ! oh ! Dine with a baronet? Eather ! 
Oh ! oh ! oh ! 

Sir F. And you, Mr. Middleton ? 

Mid. I cannot refuse so kind an invitation, Sir Francis. 

Sir F. That’s right, Mr. Middleton, and over the walnuts 
and the wine you shall tell us some of your best stories. 

Mid. With ^ensure ; I’ll give you the history of Shadrac 
Jones. 

Jer. (r.) Shadrac Jones ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! Oh ! oh ! oh ! 
What a singular name. And who, pray, is Shadrac Jones ? 

Mid. The boldest highwayman, the sharpest cutpurse, the 
clevertst coiner—in fact, the most talented rogue in the 
world ; and that is saying a very great deal. 

Sir F. After dinner we must hear all about him, Mr, 




18 


TIT& fcaUPEN PLOUGH. 


Middleton. Doctor, pray give your arm to Miss May. 
(Doctor, dots so and exits with her) Now, gentlemen, I will 
bring up the rear. 

(Ail go up to the door except Sir Francis and Mrs, 
Royal) 

Sir F. Pray take my arm, Mrs. Royal. 

Mrs. R. (with bitterness) To those who know you not, 
such an offer may be an honour ; to me it is an insult. Take 
your arm—No ! Never again, Francis Claude ! (crosses him) 
Never again ! (music swells out for curtain) 


PICTURE. 


*v><>*• 


«#• _y 
<4 4* V" 


<y 


4? 


o 


A* 

A 0 ' 

Doctor and May 


Martin in door. 


on fcteps. 


Curtain. 


End of Act I. 


Note.— During this Act Jerry, 


“:~ iyuu,1 3 -“-cl •'erry, Middleton, Tom Cairo 

and L)octor Jordan, when not otliervvise engaged, are 
rustic table by hedge, smoking long pipes, and drinkii 
and chatting together .—The Author. 




THE GOLDEN rLOUGII. 


10 



Mid. Wullj gentlemen, not only did Shadrac Jones do 
this, but lie acually managed lo get appointed a watchman 
in London, and whilst in that capacity assisted his confede¬ 
rates in the execution of a gigantic robbery. Ilis next ap¬ 
pearance was in the fashionable world, where he tried to 
obtain the hand of an heiress. At that lime ho called 
himself, I afterwards learnt, Captain or Major Peyton. 

Sir F. Do you really mean to say that Major Peyton was 
Shadrac Jones ? 

Mid. Certainly. 

Sir F. That is singular, for the heiress this scoundrel tried 
to win is my niece, Miss Claude. (movement of interest by 
Martin) I thought the fellow was an impostor, and sent him 
to the right about. He challenged me to light; I considered 
my life of more value than his, and declined. And pray, 
Mr, Middleton, where is this Shadrac Jones now ? 

IMid. A convict in IIol and. Eighteen months ago I 
assisted to get him convicted fora robbery at the Hague. 

Sir F. (o.) Gentlemen, I thank you very, veiy much for 
your company. I can assure you I have spent a delightful 
evening in your society, and I am greatly indebted to you. 
Jer. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Oh ! oh ! oh ! We aie the indebted. 






















20 


THE GOLDEN PLOUGH. 


We are the obliged. It is not in my power, Sir Francis, to 
entertain you as you have entertained us ; but there is my 
address, and such poor hospitality as I can offer pray accept 
on some future occasion. There is my name and London 
address, Sir Francis. 

Sir. F. {taking card) Thank you. {reads) Mr. Jeremiah 
Nebuchadnezzar Drake. Surely that is not your correct 
name 1 

Jer. Quite correct, quite correct, strange as it may seem. 
Jeremiah Nebuchadnezzar is my name. Ha ! ha ! ha ! My 
maternal parent happened to be a lady whose tendencies 
were strictly Scriptural ; my father, on the contrary, was a 
gentleman whose inclinations bordered on the humorous 
profane. I came into the world, and after my bodily require¬ 
ments had been attended to, it was deemed necessary that 
my spiritual ones should receive attention. I was to be 
christened. My name became a subject of lively discussion 
in the parental circle. My mother said, “Every one of my 
children shall have a Biblical name.” “ Very well,” said my 
father, ultimately, “you give the children one Scriptural 
name, and I will give them another.” Mother was naturally 
delighted, and consented. I was placed in the clergyman’s 
hands. “ What name or names have you selected for this 
child?” he inquired. “Jeremiah,” said my mother, and 
“ Nebuchadnezzar,” said my father. Ha ! ha! ha ! Oh! oh! oh! 
And Jeremiah Nebuchadnezzar I was called. Mother 
wouldn’t succumb. Father wouldn’t give in, and conse- 
sequently my next brother rejoiced in the cognomen of Josiah 
Jerusalem, and had it not been for the direct intervention of 
the clergyman, my third brother would certainly have been 
named Benjamin Beelzebub. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Oh ! oil ! oh ! 
{clock chimes ten) Ah, ten o’clock, my usual hour to retire to 
my peaceful couch, {all rise) 

Sir. F. {rising, and dropping down, l.) I am surprised to 
hear a Londoner say so, for in town the day usually com¬ 
mences about this time. 

Jer. When I am in Rome, I do as Rome does. In the 
country I retire early in the evening, in town eaily in the 
morning. Ha! ha! ha! Oh! oh! oh! {Goes up, r.u.e.) 

Doc. (l.) Good night, Sir Francis. 

Sir F. One moment, Doctor; I’ll give you something for 
that poor fellow who broke his arm yesterday. {Goes up, takes 
travelling case from table near window, places it on table, l., 
unlocks, opens it, and takes from it a pocket book containing a 
quantity of notes. Gives a note.) Give him that trifle with 
my best wishes for his speedy recovery. 

Doc. A very timely present, Sir Francis. 




THE GOLDEN PLOUGH. 


21 


Jer. He’s a perfect prince. Good night, Sir Francis, good 
night. ( takes Doctor’s arm, and they exeunt, k.u.k.) 

Tom. Good night, 8ir Francis. 

Sir. F. ( shaking his hand) Good night, Mr. Carroll, and a 
pleasant ride to York. 

Tom. Thank you, Sir Francis. 

Sir F. (aside) Come to me by-and-bye when I am alone. 

Tom nods assent and exits, r.u.e. Sir Francis locks up 
travelling case and lakes it back to table by window. 

Mid. Excuse me, Sir Francis, but you have forgotten to 
lock up the notes. 

Sir. F. So I have. What a careless fellow I am, to be sure, 
where money is concerned, (takes up pocket book) 

Mid. (behind table, l.) Careless ? Then I suppose you 
haven’t even taken the numbers of those notes ? 

Sir F. (r. of l. table) Taken the numbers ? Indeed I have 
not, Mr. Middleton. 

Mid. (l of l. table) And what should you do, Sir Francis, 
it they were to be stolen from you ? 

Sir F. I should get some more from the bank, to be sure. 

Mid. And let the thief quietly enjoy his plunder? Why, 
Sir Francis, you are deliberately holding a door open for a 
robber to escape by after he has plundered you. 

Sir. F. (at table) Egad, I’ll take the numbers at once. 
(about to enter numbers in pocket-book) Stay, if I were to lose 
Ihe notes, ten to one 1 should lose the pocket-book also. Ah, 
here’s Air. Drake’s address. I will put them on that. 

Mid. (l. of l. table) Let me call over the numbers to you. 

Sir. F. You are very kind 

Mid. (counting notes) One, two, three, four, five. One 
hundred pound notes, ..umbers T32, 285-16-17-18-19 and 20, 
and two twenties, B482 and 83. Good night, Sir Francis, 
and a thousand thanks for your hospitality. 

Sir F. Don’t name that, Air. Aliddleton. More, it was 
worth a hundred dinners to know that the scoundrel, Major 
Arthur Peyton, alias Shadrac Jones, alias any other name, 
is comfortably lodged in a prison. So, good night, Mr. 
Alidd elon. (Middleton exits, R. u. e.) 

Enter ATay, r. u. e. 

AIay. Do you require anything more this evening, Sir 
Francis ? 

Sir F. Nothing, my dear, except your motlnr’s company 
l>y-and-bye. 

AIay. Shall I draw the curtains? (Sir Francis nods 
assent) — (aside) Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! the window fastener 
is broken off. I am sure it was all right last night. Who 







22 


THE GOLDEN PLOUGH. 


can have done it ? Polly, the chambermaid, I suppose. She 
is always breaking something. The ostler says she has broken 
his heart. ( draws curtains close) Good-night, Sir Francis. 

Sir F. Good-night, my dear May. ( kisses her) You don’t 
object to my kissing you—ahem !—in a fatherly way ? 

May. Not at all. I wish indeed you were my father. 

(Exits, door, r.) j 

Sir F. (aside) She little knows how near the truth she 
sails. 

Mar. I have remained behind to ask if I may speak with 
you privately. 

Sir F. I am quite at your service, Mr. Preston. Dr. 
Jordan has told me of the late Squire’s dishonourable treat¬ 
ment of you ; if, therefore, you wish to obtain a living, I 
may be disposed to present you with that of Bel claude, which i 
is now vacant and in my gift, provided, of course, that I am 1 
satisfied of your capabilities. 

Mar. On that score, Sir Francis, I should refer you to j] 
those who attended this parish church during the time I 
officiated in it. 

Sir F. 1 know some Prestons, of Lancashire ; are you re¬ 
lated to them, mav I ask 2 

Mar. (seated, l.) I don’t think so. 

Sir F. (seated, R.) I presume your parents know? 

Mar. If they do, or did, they have kept it a profound 
secret. 

Sir F. Pray who are your parents, Mr. Preston ? 

Mar. I really cannot tell you. 

Sir F. You cannot tell ? 

Mar. The truth is, Sir Francis, I am a foundling 

Sir F. I sincerely pity you, Mr. Preston. 

M ar. Pray spare yourself the pains, (rises, hand on chair) 
for I neither seek nor desire pity. I know, none the less, 
ihat I must appear to you, Sir Francis, whose pedigree is a 
proverb and a boast, a very inferior person, when I acknow¬ 
ledge that I was left at a workhouse, and that I was named 
after the parish beadle, who consented to act as my sponsor. 
Yet, despite all this, I intend to make a name in the world, 
for I am young, strong, and 1 trust resolute ; when I have 
made that name I hope to marry a lady whom I devotedly 
love. 

Sir F. And, I presume, who loves you ? (Martin inclines 
his head) Have you men tinned the circumstances connected 
with your infancy to her ? 

Mar. She knows all. She is willing—I am vain enough to 
believe, even wishful, to become my wife ; but that she cannot 
be wi thout her guardian’s consent. 




THE GOLDEN PLOUGH. 


Sir F. Have you asked for his consent? 

Mar. I am about to do so. The lady in question is your 
•rfiece. 

Sir F. (in amazement) niece ! Helen Claude ] (rises) 

Mar. (l.c.) Your niece, Helen Claude : to whom I was in¬ 
troduced whilst you were abroad on diplomatic business. 

Sir. F. (r.c.) Mr. Preston, I hardly know whether to con¬ 
sider you a fool or a madman ; one of the two I am convinced 
you must be, or you would never for one moment dream of 
an alliance with my family. My answer to your request is 
emphatically—MO ! 

Mar I have but one course left in that case. 

Sir F. Pray what course is that? 

Mar. To wait patiently till the time arrives when Miss 
Claude will be free to dispose of her hand as she pleases. 

Sir. F. (at chair by table , r.) Mr. Preston, what you have 
just said is singularly painful to me. I have but recently 
refused a peerage, loving as I do the quaint old local title, 
Baronet of Belclaude. I wish to live and die, known by that 
name. In lion, however, of the honour I have declined, I 
have the promise of His Mnjesl.y that my name and baromtcy 
shall descend after my death to the husband of my niece, 
and to their issue. By my will I have left my niece every¬ 
thing I possess, so were I to die she would be mistress of 
her own actions, and from what you have hinted, would 
select you for her husband. To-morrow, however, I shall 
start back to London, and alter my will ; by that alteration 
I will make it impossible for her to marry without losing 
everything. 

Mar. You are unjust, Sir Francis. 

Sir F. Not at all. A parish beadle may be agreeable to 
give his name to a foundling, but the Baronet of Belclaude 
intends to be sure that his ancient name and broad acres will 
descend to something better than a waif and a stray. 

Mar. Then, Sir Francis, you hold out no hope—none ! 
no possibility, no chance of my gaining your niece’s hand ? 

Enter Mrs. Royal, r. u. e. ; stops suddenly. She is 
unseen by Sir Francis. 

Sir F. No ! (laughing) Stay ! There is just one chance, 
and even that chance will not exist to-morrow. 

Mar. What is it you mean, Sir Francis ? 

Sir F. My death before I have time to alter my will. 

Mar. (l.) And that is my solitary chance ? 

Str F. Your only chance I swear it on my unbroken 
word. 

Mar. I am answered 1 (Exit, i. 1 e.) 









ttlE GOLDEN PLOUGH. 


Mrs. R. (up, c.) Did you say your unbroken word, Sir 
Francis Claude 1 

Sir F. I was net aware that you were listening. 

Mrs. R. (down, r.c.) lean readily believe that, or I feel 
sure you would have chosen a different oath. 

Sir F. (about to take her hand; she shrinks from him ) Listen 
to me, Grace. 

Mrs. R. Why do you call me by that name, and how dare 
you attempt to touch me ? I am Mrs. Royal, the widow of a 
good and honest man, and from whom my parents hid the 
story of my early life. I would have told him all—they com¬ 
pelled me to remain silent. Remember, then, if you have 
anything to say to me, that I am no longer the Grace Good¬ 
man you knew years ago, but Mrs. Royal, the hostess of 
the “Golden Plough.” I am here at your bidding, Sir 
Francis Claude, what is it you wish ? 

Sir F. Your forgiveness for the past. (Mrs. Royal smiles 
bitterly ) Do not think because I did not return on the ap¬ 
pointed day there was no reason for my absence. 

Mrs. R. Reason, yes. The usual one. Reluctance to 
repair the injury done. 

Sir F. That was not mine, I swear. Fate, cruel fate alone, 
prevented me from returning. 

Mrs. R. Cruel fate, indeed, Francis Claude, which threw 
you into my path to w^ng me, and withheld you from it to 
right me. 

Sir F. Long before I learnt to love you, I fell into the 
toils of a wicked woman, whom, in my blind infatuation, I 
married. When I left you at Belclaude, promising to return 
to make you my wife, I believed that woman was dead. 
When I arrived in Paris, I found the father whom I loved, 
dead ; the wife whom I loathed, living. I dared not return 
to tell you the truth. 

Mrs. R. Yet it would have been far better ; for my love 
for you then, Francis Claude, was so great, so mighty, that, 
knowing all, I could have forgiven all. Know ing nothing, 
I learnt to- 

Sir F. No—no—do not say hate, do not say hiMe. 

Mrs. R. Why not ? A woman either loves or hates. And 
how could I love the villain who broke his faith ? 

Sir F. I have told you w hy I did not return. 

Mrs. R. You have told me—yes. But as I once blindly 
believed every word you uttered, I now as thoroughly doubt. 
You were once, to me, an idol on a pinnacle ; you are now 
a broken image in the dust. 

Sir F. Do you not believe what I have said? 

Mrs. R. Not one word. 





THE GOLDEN PLOUGH. 


25 


Sir F. Thon since my words are valueless, let my 
eds speak for me. Anything I possess in the world I will 
eely give to you. Any act it is in my power to accomplish, 
me it and I will do it. In a word, Grace Royal, to hear 
u but say the little sentence, “I forgive you,” I will make 
y sacrifice you may demand. 

Mrs. R. Any sacrifi'' ? 

SjrF. Any sacrifice. 

Mrs. R. You make n ) reservation ? 

Sir F. None ! 

Mrs. R. You pledge yourself to grant any favour I may 
ask ? 

Sir F. I pledge myself. 

Mrs. R. I accept your pledge. I shall forgive—nay, I 
will even try to forget the past, at the moment your niece 
comes from the altar the wife of Martin Preston. 

Sir F. No, no, no ! Grace Royal, I cannot consent to that. 
Mrs. R. {with scorn) So much for your promise. Old and 
young, Francis Claude, you are the same. You make 
promises, you do not redeem them. You were faithless in 
the past, you are faithless in the present. ( going up , c.) 

Sir F. Stay, Grace, you have asked me the one sacrifice 
I cannot make. 

Mrs. R. You said any sacrifice. You have told me that 
fate prevented you redeeming the promise of the past; pride 
alone stands in the way now. Once more, Francis Claude, 
will you redeem your promise, will you earn my forgiveness! 
Answer me—yes, or no ? ( 'apause ) You remain silent. (Music, 
li When first I saw your face.” Very quietly and almost 
tenderly) That which you have so much desired, my forgive¬ 
ness—is within your reach now. I have suffered much f<»r 
you ; will you not, for the sake of old times, for the memory 
of the pa*t, grant the one request I ask of you ? Still silent ? 
Alas ! 1 know too well what thatsilence means. Good night, 
Francis Claude, good night; I beg of yon not to see 
me again w hilst you are here. I will keep my own room, 
and never again ask me to believe you, for I never—never 
can. Farewell, Francis Claude, and I hope farewell for 
ever, (going) 

Sir F. Grace—Grace Goodman, don’t, don’t go. You 
have conquered ! I cast away pride, everything. My answer 
is, Yes, yes ! a thousand times, for I love you too much 
to refuse you anything. 

Mrs. R. (incredulously) You consent? You consent for 
my sake alone ? 

Sir F. For your sake alone. I will receive into my family 
a waif, a stray, a / yundling, who cannot even name hi§ fathert 








26 


THE GOLDEN PLOUGH. 


Mrs. R. (r.c. ) But I can. His father is of equal birth and 
of equal rank with you. His ancestors were as valiant, his 
name as ancient, and his blood as pure as yours. His father 
is a baronet, descended from a long line of baronets. Sir 
Francis Claude, Martin Preston is your own son. 

Sir F. My son ? 

m rs. R. And mine ! Heaven has placed in your power the 
means of atoning to the son for the wrong done to the mother. 

SirF. I thank Heaven, Grace, that it is so merciful. Send 
him to me at once. My niece is staying at York. To-mor¬ 
row Martin shall go to her with my written consent, and as 
speedily as possible they shall be married. Your son and 
mine, Grace, shall be constituted my heir and successor to 
my name, estates, and title. 

Mrs. R. That done, you will merit more than my forgive¬ 
ness, you shall possess my gratitude. 

Sir. F. Your gratitude, Grace—may I not hope to regain 
your love ? May I not hope to yet call you my wife ? It is 
a reparation I owe to make you Lady Claude. 

Mrs. R. There was a time when I yearned, prayed to 
bear that name ; but the desire, the craving 1 is past. To be 
anything to each other than friends we can not, for we have 
met too late, Francis Claude, too late. ( Exit , r. u.e.) 

Sir F. Too late ! no, not too late ; she shall be my wife. 
I’ll win back the old affection. We may smother the flame 
of love, but fire remains in the ashes, and that fire shall 
blaze brightly yet. ( comes to table, r. c., and commences to i 
write ; reads as he writes) 

“ * The Golden Plough ,’ Kingscroft , 

“ Wednesday night. 

“My Hear Nell,— This letter will be brought to you by 
the Peverend Martin Preston, a gentleman who has ashed me for 
my consent to h is marriage ivith you, I not only unconditionally 
assent, but I sincerely trust that you will accept him, for he is 
the man of all others to whom I wish my name and estates to 
descend .— Your Affectionate Uncle, 

“Francis Philip Claude .’ 1 

There, I fancy that will rather astonish Miss Helen, (seals 
up letter, which he directs ; tap is heard at window, c.) What 
is that ?. (tapping again) Some one tapping at the window. 
{goes up and looks between curtains) Oh, it is Tom Carroll for 
the money. Well, I must keep my promise, although May 
isn’t my daughter after all. (throws aside curtains, opens win¬ 
dow, and Tom eiders, steps into room, shuts window, and dra ws 
ivrtains ) 





THE GOLDEN PLOUGH. 


27 


Tom. Here I am, Sir Francis. 

Sir F. What on eartli has made you enter that way? 

Tom You see, Sir Francis, if May had seen me come in 
here, she would have wanted to know all about it; so I pre¬ 
tended to start for York ten minutes ago, rode a short way 
on the road, tied the colt to a gate, and came back through 
the orchard and bowling green, 

Sir F. Quite right, (takes notes from pocket-book) Here are 
the £100. 

Tom. Thank you, Sir Francis, thank you ; and now I had 
bet ter be off before I am seen, (going to door, l. 1 e.) Good 
night, Sir Faucis, and for your kindness to-night l wish you 
all the h appiiK>3 the world can give, and a long, long life to 
enjoy it. Good-night, Sir Francis, good-night. 

(Exit, l. 1 E.) 

Sir F. Good night, Mr. Carroll, and a pleasant journey ! 
I must lock up the rest of these notes, (puts notes back into 
pocket-book ! as tie does this he says musingly) Long life to me. 
(music) Yes, I want life to win back Grace Royal’s love ; to 
make her my wife ; to teach her that I am truer, better than 
she has thought me. To that I devote my life. ( chimes ) Long 
life ? Why should I not live many years yet? 1 am barely 
forty-six, in perfect health, sound as a bell, and strong as a 
horse. Longlife? I feel to-night young as ever, and death 
seems as far distant as when 1 was a boy. (clock chimes and 
strikes eleven. Sir Francis goes up to small table, puts down 
the jJocket-book, and is unlocking travelling case, when a hand 
and arm issue between the curtains, seize pocket-book and 
disappear Music, agitate) Who is that ? A hand has 
seized the note-!, (attempts to throw back curtains, when the 
figure of Martin Preston, /ace covered with left arm, appears, 
with knife, and stabs Sir Francis from between curtains. 
Sir Francis, with a suppressed groan, staggers back and 
supports himself by chair and small table, l. c.) 

f." 

Enter Mrs. Royal, r. 1 e. 

Mrs. R. Martin is not in his cottage, and I cannot find 
him anywhere, (observes Sir Francis) Merciful heavens ! 
What ails you ? 

Sir F. Look, look, behind the curtains, quick, quick 1 Who 
is it, Grace, who is it ? 

Mrs. R. Behind the curtains? (disappears behind cur, fins 
and is heard to say, “ You shall not escape ; ” the voitt of 
Martin Preston is heard to reply, 11 Release me, or I will 
kill'you also.” Mrs. Royal, with a cry of horror, re-appears, 
turtains close behind her) Oh God ! Martin ! 











THE GOLDEN PLOUGH. 


23 

Sir F. Grace, you heard his voice—you heard his voice— 
and I die by his hand, (reels) 

Mrs. R. ( she seizes and supports him ' No, no, not die-*not 
die ! 

Sir F. You forgive me, Grace, say you forgive me ? 

Mrs. R. Yes, yes, with all my heart, Frank, with all my 
heart. 

Sir F. Ah, the old name again ; then I know now you do 
forgive me. 

Mrs. R. Yes, forgive, and I love you more than ever. 

Sir F. Thank Heaven for that. Quick, Grace, quick—kiss 
me mice before I die ! 

Mrs. R. ( kissing him passionately) No, no, you must not, 
you shall not die. 

Sir F. Don’t leave me, it is nearly over. Grace—listen,— 
promise—promise you will never tell who killed me, for I 
forgive him. Promise—promise, and I die in peace. 

Mrs. R. I do, I do promise. (Sir Francis clings to her) 

Sir F. You were a true prophetess ; we have met too late— 
too late. ( falls out of her arms) 

Mrs. R. (with a piercing shriek, throws herself by his side 
on hir knees) Frank, Frank, darling, speak to me- -speak to 
me ! I have been cruel—I have been unforgiving—l have 
doubted you wrongly. Frank ! Frank ! Frank ! It is I— 
Grace—Grace—Goodman. Oh ! he is dead—dead—and killed 
by him ! (sinks sobbing near body) 

Enter Midddeton, r.u.e. 

Mid. What on earth is the matter? Sir Francis Claude, 
lifeless? Mrs. Royal, who has done this? Why don’t you 
speak ? What a terrible draught. It must be from the window. 

( goes up and throws curtains open) Yes, it is wide open. 

Martin Preston appears at window . 

Mar. What is the matter? 

Mid. Matter enough. Sir Francis Claude has, I fear, been 
murdered. 

Mar. Murdered ? 

Middleton jumps out of window and disappears. 

Mar. (enters through window) Murdered? (comes down) 
Mrs. Royal, permit me to raise Sir Francis. 

Mrs. R. (starts up, and with intensity) No, no ! Don’t you 
touch him, Martin Preston ! 

Quick Curtain. 

N.B.—The gentleman who plays Martin Preston takes the 

pocket-book and strikes the blow with the knife, but he 

must be careful not to let his face be seen. — The Author. 





THE GOLDEN PLOUGH, 


29 




ACT III. 

Same as last Act. (daylight) The Chamber of Crime. Curtains 
thrown back , garden seen beyond. Middleton seen examin¬ 
ing window. Du. Jordan seated, l, and May discovered 
watching him. Place writing materials in order. 

Mid. Yes, the fastener lias evidently been wrenched off. 
You say, Miss May, that it was broken when you drew the 
curtains ? 

May. (r. of window) Yes, Mr. Middleton, for I could not 
fasten the window. 

Mid. Where is your mother, Miss Royal ? 

May. In her room. 

Mid. Will you please tell her that I should like to speak 
with her ? 

May. Yes, Mr. Middleton, 1 will; but pray don’t harass 
her too much, she has been so ill all the night. 

Mid. I am sure I shall be very considerate. 

May. I do wish Tom would return. 

Mid. Let me see, Mr. Carroll left here about a quarter of 
).i hour before this affair took place, did he not? 

May. I don’t think it was more than half-past ten when 
he galloped off. (aside) Oh, what a terrible shock it will be 
to Torn when he hears the news. 

Mid. Now, my dear, send your mother to me as soon as 
possible. 

May. Very well, Mr. Middleton, but remember she is not 
to be distressed. (Exit, r. tj. e.) 

Mid. I will not forget your injunctions, (turns to Doctor, 
who rises) Doctor, tell me, have you any suspicion who has 
, committed this murder? 

Doc. Not the slightest—have you? 

Mid. I must admit that at present I have not. Perhaps 
Mrs. Ptoyal may give us some clue. 

(Jerry sings outside) 
Mid. (at window) Hullo, there is Mr. Drake in the 
gardens. By-the-bye, I haven’t questioned him yet. (opens 
window and shouts) Hi! hi ! hi ! Mr. Drake ! Here ! here ! 

(Jerry appears at outside of window) 
Jer. Do you want me, Mr. Middleton ? 

Mid. Yes, come here. 

Jer. What, through this window ? Why, this is the very 
way they say the—the—the assassin came. 

Mid. (l.) Don’t be nervous, man. 





30 


T11E GOLDEN PLOUGH. 


Jer. (c .) I can’t help it. ( entering through window) Oh, 
dear ! oh, dear ! This is an awful occurrence. I wouldn’t 
have believed it possible that a terrible crime like this could 
have been committed, and a celebrated Bow Street runner 
not ten yards off all the time. 

Mid. I say, that’s hitting me hard, Mr. Drake. 

Jer. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Ob ‘ oh !-No ! I can’t even raise 

a single laugh. Is there any serious objection to my setting 
off for London, as I intended to do yesterday ? for I shall 
not be able to smile again whilst 1 remain in this terrible 
village. May I start at once, Mr. Middleton? 

Mid. Hadn’t you better remain and give your evidence at 
the inquest to-morrow ? 

Jer. My evidence? Oh, dear—oh, dear ! What evidence 
can I give ? Except that I went to bed shortly after ten 
o’clock, and immediately fell fast asleep. I was awaked this 
morning by the chambermaid, who brought me my boots, hot 
water, and the dreadful intelligence that Sir Francis Claude 
had been killed. The moment I heard that my hair and 
myself simultaneously sprang straight up, and Polly bolted out 
of the room as if she had been shot at. Ha ! ha ! lia ! Oh ! 
cli ! oh ! 

Mid. Didn’t any one come to your room last night ? 

Jer. Not a soul. 

Mid. And you didn’t hear any noise ? were you not 
disturbed ? 

Jer. Not a sound did I hear. The sleep of the innocent 
is placid. 

Mid. And yet your bed-chamber is directly over this 
room. 

Jer. That’s just it. I cannot bear the idea of sleeping 
there another night. Mr. Middleton, may I start for London 
at once ? 

Mid. As you are not likely obe of any use at the inquest, I 
don’t see why you should not, if you desire to do so. Be- 
member I shall look you up at your favourite tavern. 

Jer. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Oh ! oh ! oh ! Bight you are, and 
welcome you shall be. No violence there ; nothing slaugh¬ 
tered at the “ Merry Momus ” but the victuals, and no 
dead men but the empty bottles under the tables. IIa ! ha ! 
ha ! Oh ! oh ! oh ! I’ll just pack up my few traps, hire a 
conveyance, drive over to York, and take the first stage for 
London. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Oh ! oh ! oh ! Shan’t I be glad to 
get back to London. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Oh ! oh ! oh ! (going) 

Mid. Mr. Drake, I expect Constable Harris, from York, 
directly, with a search warrant. If, however, he should 





THE GOLDEN PLOUGH. 31 

not arrive before you are ready to start, you will not make 
any objection to my examining your luggage ? 

^ Jer. Object ? oh, dear no. Why on earth should I object? 
You will find the usual number of coats, waistcoats, and 
breeches, shirts, socks, and stocks, Ac. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Oh ! 
<>h ! oli ! I’ll pack up at once, I’ll pack up at once. Ha ! ha! 
lui! Oh! oh! oh! (Exit through window) 

Piano music. Entei Mrs. Royal, r.u.e., looking very 
iU and pale. Dr. Jordan conducts her to table. 

Doc. Really, Mrs. Royal, you must not permit this mat¬ 
ter to affect you so deeply. Pray let me advise you to keep 
your spirits up, for you will require all your courage and 
strength to-morrow. 

Mrs. R. (r.) To-morrow, Doctor? 

Doc. (c.) The coroner’s inquest is fixed for to-morrow, 

(goes up c.) 

Mrs. R. Well, will it be necessary for me to appear ? 

Mid. (crosses , r.) Assuredly it will, Mrs. Royal. 

M rs. R. But if I could not be present ? 

Mid. Could not! I don’t quite understand you, Mr,\ 
Royal. 

Mrs. R. I mean if I were to be too ill to appear. 

Mid. You must not be too ill. Here has been a crime 
committed, and it is the duty of all honest people to assist 
by every means in their power, and by every possible personal 
exertion, to bring the perpetrator of it to justice. 

Mrs. R. Will everyone have to give evidence ? 

Mid. (l.) Everyone who knows anything about the affair 
must speak. 

Mrs. R. (after an effort) Have you seen Mr. Preston 
to-day ? 

Mid. He started for York early this morning ; I expected 
he would have returned before this time. He promised to 
be back by noon. 

Mrs. R. (aside) He is gone—gone then—escaped ! 

Doc. If you will give me the key, I will make the exami¬ 
nation of the wound which you suggested, while you ques¬ 
tion Mrs. Royal. 

Mrs. .R I hope Mr. Middleton is not going to ask mo 
many questions, for I am really too ill to answer. I wish to 
return to my room as soon as possible. 

Mid. Be quite assured, Mrs. Royal, that I will not detain 
you longer, or ask- more questions, than are absolutely 
necessary, (to the Doctor) There is the key. (gives key) 
Make your examination, Doctor, and lot me know the result. 













32 


TIIE GOLDEN PLOUGH. 


Doc. (takes key) Ah, clear ! ah, dear ! Yesterday—joyous, 
gay, and full of life, and to-day—cold as stone. 

(Exit,, L. 2 e. door.) 

Min, I believe, Mrs. Royal, that Sir Francis Claude sent 
for you last night. 

Mrs. R. Yes. . 

Mid. You were alone with Sir Francis for some time? 

Mrs. R. Yes. 

Mid. What time did you leave him ? 

Mrs. R. I did not stay long. 

Mid. Were you, or were you not in the room when the 
fatal blow was struck ? 

Mrs. R. I was not in the room. 

Mid. Have you any idea who the culprit is ? 

Mrs. R. Have I not said I was not in the room ? 

Mid. Did you see or hear anyone escaping by that 
v inclow ? 

Mrs. R. You forget the curtains were drawn. 

Mid. Did you look behind the curtains, (pause) Pray 
answer me. 

Mrs. R. Am I compelled, Mr. Middleton, to reply to all 
your c|uestions ? 

Mid. You are certainly not bound to answer any of my 
questions. 

Mrs. R. Then, Mr. Middleton, I decline to reply further. 

Mid. As you please, Mrs. Royal. I think, however, I 
know how to interpret your reluctance to sneak candidly. 

Mrs. R. Interpret as you will ; you are not my judge. 

Mid. When the coroner asks questions to-morrow, he will 
demand answers. 

Mrs. R. I may be better prepared to-morrow to stand the 
test of examination. 

Mip. So be it. (goes to door, R. u. e., and returns) Mrs. 
Royal, the detection of crime is my business, and it is my 
boast that I never failed yet to elucidate the deepest mystery. 
In this case I feel my professional reputation at stake, and 
have naturally a great desire to sift it to the bottom. You 
know the truth—yes, Mrs. Royal, you know the truth, and 
are trying to thwart me. Useless l—as sttrely as I ran the 
notorious Sliadrac Jones to the ground, I will help to hang 
the person who killed Sir Francis Claude. Flow, Mrs. 
Royal, what have you to say ? 

Mrs. R. Nothing ! 

Mid. Nothing to-day ; to-morrow, you mugt speak ! 

(Exit, r. u. E.) 

Mrs. R, To-morrow I must speak. His name at least I 
Will not utter. Perhaps proof of his guilt may be discovered. 








THE GOLDEN fLOUGII. 3g 

tie has feared that and sought safety in flight ; he has feared, 
too, to meet me. Oh wretched, wretched being, so near 
happiness, so near the fulfilment of his hopes, and by his 
Own hand to destroy all ! What can he be now but a fugitive* 
tvith ilothing but fear and remorse in the future. He is 
gone—the son of my love—the son of my misery—I shall 
never see him again ! ( enter Martin, r. u. e.) You —you 
returned ? 

Mar. (c.) Mrs. Royal, you are agitated ! {approaching her) 

Mrs. R. (l., shrinking from him) No, no, thank you; I 
do not require your support. 

Mar. But you are trembling violently. Pray be more 
cal m. 

Mrs. R. Calm, as you are? 

Mar. Yes, as I am. This is certainly a most lamentable 
affair. Still, we who are—as it were—concerned in it must 
not entirely succumb. 

Mrs. R. Thank you again ; but neither do I desire your 
advice. 

Mar. My good friend, you really appeared to be so 
unhappy that I thought it my duty to offer you at least my 
consolation and advice ; I imagined you would have accepted 
them as kindly as another lady has done, who has more cause 
than anyone to be overwhelmed with grief. 

Mrs. R. Of whom do you speak ? 

Mar. I speak of Helen Claude. 

Mrs. R. You have seen her then ? 

Mar. She has just returned with me from York, and is at 
th is moment with Mr. Middleton. I must explain to you 
that on this table {points to table, r.) we found a letter 
addressed to Miss Claude, after Sir Francis’s death. 

Mrs. R. Death—is that the correct word ? 

Mar. I used it as being less shocking to a lady’s ear than 
the word murder. 

Mrs. R. You are very considerate ! 

Mar. {bows) The letter I at once volunteered to take to 
York. After I had broken to Helen the sad intelligence of 
her uncle’s death, I gave it to her. Judge of our surprise 
when it proved to be an unconditional assent to our mar¬ 
riage. But why talk further since you appear so exhausted. 

Mrs. R. {crosses, a.) Yes, I do feel exhausted, mentally 
and physically. My brain burns and aches until I cannot 
bear to think ; my tongue is parched and dry, and it is with 
difficulty I speak ; but you are calm and placid, as if nothing 
unusual had happened. I will endeavour to emulate your 
examplo, for I know a dreadful trial both for body and mind 







M 


HIE GOLDEN PLOUGH. 


is before me. Yes, Martin Preston, as you are, so will 1 try 
to be—( stifles a groan and staggers )—calm and unmoved. 

Mae,. You are really ill; pray let me obtain something for 
you ? 

Mrs. R. Yes, I am faint—dizzv. I should like a little 

water. 

Mar. You shall have some at once, {going to door, L.) 

Mrs. R. {seizing his arm) No, not there, not there ! 

Mar. Why not there ? 

Mrs. R. He is there! 

Mar. The dead cannot harm us ; the living alone are 
dangerous. But alive or dead there is nothing I fear to look 
upon. {Exit, l. 1 e.) 

Mrs. R. And this is my son—my son. Ob, Heaven have 
mercy on me ! What shall I do ? What course adopt ? 
Denounce him that he may meet the punishment he deserves ? 
Cry, There is the assassin ? No ! no ! He forgave him—he 
who was most injured—why should not I? Is it not a 
mother’s place for good or for evil to protect her child ? 
Guilty though he be, should not a mother shield her son ? 

Enter Martin, with glass of water. 

Mar. Here it is, Mrs. Royal. 

Mrs. R. You have seen the dead man ? 

Mar. I have. 

Mrs. R. Yet your hand does not tremble—no muscle 
quivers. 

Mar. I am neither a child nor a coward. Here is the 

water, {offers glass ) 

Mrs. R. Thank you, I do not require it now ; 1 feel 
almost as calm and self-reliant as you do. 

Mar. I am delighted to hear it. {puts glass on table) 

Enter Helen Claude, u. e. r. 

Hel. (c.) Martin ! 

Mar. I was just about to join you, Helen. 

Mrs. R. {aside) His niece ! 

Hel. Where can I find Mrs. Royal ? 

Mrs. R. I am she. What is it you wish with me, Miss 
Claude ? 

Hel. I have just seen Mr. Middleton and he told me - 

Mrs. R. {interrupting) A moment. Martin, I should like 
to be alone with Miss Claude for a little time. 

Mar. By all means, Mrs. Royal, if you desire it; 

{saunters up stage and through ivindoiv into garden) 

Mrs. R. I am ready to speak with you now, Miss Claude: 
what is it Mr. Middleton has told you ? 





THE GOLl>EN PLOUGH. 


35 


Hel. That from you alone I can learn who it is that has 
taken the life of my poor Uncle Frank. 

Mrs. R. And if I say that Mr. Middleton is wrong? if I 
Bay that I do not know ? 

Hel. I shall believe you, Mrs. Royal, believe you implicitly. 
Mrs. R. But if on the contrary, I were to say that the 
assassin is known to me, as he was known to your uncle in 
the moment of death ; and that Sir Francis made me promise 
I would nover breathe his destroyer’s name, since he 
forgave him, and desired him to go unpunished;—if I 
told you this, would you still believe me ? 

Hel. I would not, could not doubt what you said. 

Mrs. R. You have great faith in me who am a stranger to 
you. 

Hel. You are no stranger to me, Mrs. Royal, although, 
indeed, this is the first time we meet ; one who never deceives 
has told me that you are truth itself. 

Mrs. R. Whom do you mean ? 

Hel. Martin Preston. 

Mrs. R. He has spoken of me ? 

Hel. Often, very often. He has told me a hundred times 
of your goodness to him. 

Mrs. R. You speak of him with tenderness. 

Hel. Ah, yes. How else should I speak of one whom I 
love ? ' 

Mrs. R. Then you do love him ? 

Hel. Oh, yes. And more now than ever, now that I am 
left without a protector. 

Mrs. R. But were you to lose him? Were he too to die? 
Hel. Martin ! Martin die? Oh, Mrs. Royal, you are only 
testing me ; you, who have been a mother to him, wish to 
learn if I lovo him as he deserves. Ah, be sure his happiness 
will be safe in my keeping, as mine, I know, will be in his. 

(going, l.) 

Mrs. R. (aside) How can I prevent their union without 
proclaiming him guilty ? Oh, for some means, some way, to 
save her and not tc sacrifice him. 

'Enter Middleton, r. u. e. 

Mid. (c., to Helen) What have you learnt, Miss Claude? 
Hel. Nothing ; neither do I desire to learn anything, for 
I am satisfied to know nothing. 

Mid. Humph ! (aside) Women are extraordinary creatures. 
(aloud) Perhaps, Miss Claude, ignorance in this matter may 
suit you ; it doesn’t suit me, and it won’t suit the law, I can 
tell you* 







36 THE GOLDEN PLOUGfi. 

Enter Martin through window. 

Mid. Ah, Mr. Preston, a word with you. 

Mar. With pi easure. 

Mid. ( aside to Martin) Do yon remember where you were 
at eleven Inst night ? 

Mar. Perfectly ; I was seated in one of the bowers of th© 
bowling green as the clock struck that particular hour. 

Mid. Did you see anyone on the green, or in the garden, 
about that time ? 

Mar. I certainly did see a person come through the 
orchard, cut across the corner of the bowling green, and 
then into the garden, shortly before eleven. 

Mid. Indeed ! whom ? 

Mar. The person I saw was Tom Carroll. 

Mid. Tom Carroll ! Are you quite sure of that 1 

Mar. I have not the shadow of a doubt. 

Mid. Did you see him return ? 

Mar. Yes, I saw him running alongside the hedge of the 
orchard. 1 followed him to ask if anything was wrong when 
he leaped over the gate, jumped on his colt, and rode quickly 
away. 

Mid. Was that before or after eleven o’clock? 

Mar. Directly after, I believe. 

Mid. Thank you. (aside) Now I begin to get a clue. 
(re enter Jerry Dr^ke, door, u.e.r.) Ah, Mr. Drake, I sup¬ 
pose you are ready to start ? (crosses, r.) 

Jek. (c.) Well, no. (the moment he sees Helen Claude he 
suddenly gives a sneeze as though suffering from a very severe 
cold; he keeps his eyes shaded and half-closed, as though the light 
pained him , and speaks as ifhehad a bad cold to the end of the Act) 
What a dreadful cold I have got, to be sure ; the fact is I don’t 
think I shall go at present, because I might make it worse by 
travelling. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Oh ! oh ! oh ! Then it does seem 
so jolly strange just to run away because there is a little 
trouble about. I'll stay—I’ll stay for the inquest. I know 
I’m an awful coward, but I don’t want everybody to think 
so. I’ll stop ! I’ll stop ! I’ll stop ! 

Mid. Bravo, and by-and-bye I’ll see if I can’t give you 
some excitement. 

Jer. Excitement ! what excitement ? 

Mid. As soon as the warrant arrives, I intend to search 
every hole and corner of the old Inn, and you shall assist me. 

Jer. Oh ! oh ! oh ! I see ; a game of hide and seek. Oh 1 
oh ! oh ! (goes up, l. ) 

Mid, No, sir ; a game of seek ; and woe betide those wh° 


ttiE GOLDEN PLOUGH. 3? 

hide. (looks meaningly at Mrs. Royal. Enter Harris, r.u.e.) 
Hulloa, Harris, have you brought the search warrant ? 

Har. Not yet ; one of the constables will be here with it 
before night. ( aside to Midddeton) You sent some informa¬ 
tion about the missing notes ? 

Min. Yes, I sent the numbers which I had luckily recom¬ 
mended Sir Francis to take last night. 

Har. (givespaper) Read that from the Bank Manager at 
York. 

Mid. (reads and darts) Great Jupiter ! This explains all! 
Ml)at a fool the man must be. This explains, too, the reason 
of Mrs. Royal’s aversion to speak. Poor woman ! I pity her. 
Pshaw ! I am an officer of the law, and the law knows no 
pity ; its motto is Justice, (takes stage , l.) 

Enter May, followed by Tom Carroll, r. u. e. 

May. Oh, mother, here is Tom returned ; he has only just 
heard the news. 

Tom. Ah, Mr. Harris, I have been trying to overtake you 
for the last two miles, but the mare you rode is Lister than 
my colt. 

Har. I didn’t know you were following me, Mr. Carroll, 
or I should have pulled up, I can tell you. 

Enter Doctor, l. 1 e. 

Mid. Well, Doctor, have you fi ishe 1 your examination 1 

Doc. Yes, and I have made \ hat ■- believe to be a terrible 
discovery. 

Omnes. (except Martin and Mrs. Royal) A discovery ? ! 

(music, piano) 

Doc. A discovery which leads me to believe more than 
ever that Joe Trimmer is innocent ; for the wound which has 
been inflicted on Sir Francis Claude is identical in every 
respect with the wound received by the old Squire. I believe 
they have been done by the self-same hand, and the self¬ 
same knife ; I believe, as there is a Heaven above me, that 
the assassin in both cases is the self-same man. 

Omnes. The same man ! 

Mrs. R. fin agony) Oh 1 impossible, Doctor ; I say in pos¬ 
sible. * (Martin comes down) 

Mid. Wily impossible, Mrs. Royal ? 

"R A h ! T ’-oally do not know what I am saying. I 
do not indeed , gentlemen. Pray excuse me ; the events of 
usi .. so distract <1 me that all seems to me like ft 

ureadful dream. 



38 


THE GOLDEN PLOUGH. 


Mid. (aside to Mrs. Royal) Don’t seek to make excuses 
or evasions, Mrs. Royal, for the truth is now known to me as 
it lias been known to you. The man who committed the 
crime is in the room at this moment. Your silence has notp 
will not, and cannot save him, for I am about to arrest him. 
(turns away : music) 

Mrs. R. (throwing her arms wildly about Martin) No ! 
no ! no ! 

Mid. (who has not observed this action) Thomas Carroll, in 
the name of the law, I arrest you for the murder of the late 
Sir Francis Philip Claude ! 

Mrs. R (turns, and , with a scream, falls senseless in Mar¬ 
tin’s arms) Ah ! 


Tableau. 


End of Act III. 




Tom. May. 




doctor. Hdeu. 





thL golden plough. 


39 


ACT. IV. 

Same scene as Act I. save that it is now moonlight. Light falls 
on base of tree and entrance of Inn. Middleton and Harris 
discovered base of tree. As curtain rises enter Peter Smith, 
with lantern and letter. 

Pet. (handing letter to Middleton) A messenger has just 
brought this, sir. 

Mid. (opens letter) The setwoh warrant at last. What slow¬ 
coaches you Yorkshire people are to be sure. Peter, (to 
Peter, who is going) 

Pet. Yes, sir, we are. 

Mid. You con leave the lantern. 

Pet. All right, sin 
Mid. And, Peter— 

Pet. Yes, sir. 

Mtd. Whose business is it to lock up at night! 

Pet. Mine, sir. 

Mid. Oh, it is, is it ? Then how abditt that (poiilts to dooY 
at back) garden door ? are you supposed to lock that ? 

Pet. Yes, sir. 

Mid. Then pray why wasn’t it locked last night 1 
Pet. I forgot all about it last night, sir ; what tvitli thd 
liquor as Sir Francis sent out for us to drink in the kitchen * 
and what with Polly, the housemaid, a flirtin’ with thd 
gardner from the Hall, it went clean out of nly head. 

Mid. Let me have the keys by-and-bye ; I’ll lock up for 
you to-night, Peter. 

Pet. But the misses, sir, the misses ; perliapi she won’t 
like it. 

Mid. Do you see that, sir ? (shewing him warrant) 

Pet. Yes, sir, I see it. 

Mid. Well, that’s from your master, King George, and 
you must obey his orders before anyone else’s. Now, my 
lad, go and get the lantern and the keys ready, and after 
that you may make love to Polly as much as you like. 

Pet. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir ! Beg pardon, sir ! 

Mid. Well, what is it, Peter ? 

Pet. Polly likes you, sir. 

Mid. Indeed ! 

Pet. Yes, sir. Thinks a good deal of what you say, she 
does. 

Mid. Does she though ? 

Pet. Yes, sir; and you might manage to speak a good 









40 


tttE GOLDEN ELOUGlL 


word for me when you are a-talking to her. You might say 
as how you fancy I’m just the sort of chap to make her 
happy, and as how you consider me a nice, smart, handy, 
wide-awake, active, good^iooking lad. 

Mid. Oh ! ( laughs ) Well, Peter, to oblige you I don’t mind 
saying what you suggest to Polly on the quiet, but I must 
candidly confess I shouldn’t like to assert as much in the 
witness-box. 

Pet. How’s that, sir ? 

Mid. Because when I am in the witness-box, Peter, I am 
bound to speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but 
the truth. 

Pet. Well, sir, I shouldn’t think that would make much 
difference to one in your line of business. 

Mid. Why not, Peter? 

Pet. ’Cos I’ve heard say Bow Street runners will swear 
anything. {Exit into Inn) 

Har. ( laughs ) I think Peter is a sharper lad than you gave 
him credit for, Middleton. 

Mid. Perhaps so, but it isn’t often I’m mistaken. 

Har. By the way, that reminds me, you helped to convict 
Shadrac Jones ? 

Mid. Yes, he committed a bank robbery at the Hague, 
and I went over to identify him. 

ITar. Did he deny he was Shadrac Jones? 

Mid. Of course he did, but then I quite expected lie 
would. 

Har. Well, he died last week in prison, and with his last 
breath he asserted he was not Shadrac Jones at all. Look 
at that sketch which a pal of mine has sent me. ( shews sketch) 

Mid. Yes, that’s the man we convicted ; and if he wasn’t 
Shadrac Jones, all I can say is I never saw Shadrac Jones. 

H ar. That’s just it. I don’t believe you ever did see the 
bona fide Shadrac Jones, alias Arthur Peyton. 

Enter Helen Claude, and Doctor Jordan from 
Martin’s cottage, r. 

Mid. ( aside to Harris) This lady can settle our doubts. 
(aloud) Miss Claude, you can assist at the elucidation of a 
mystery. 

Hel. Pray what is it? 

Mid. I believe that a certain adventurer known as Major 
Peyton paid his addresses to you ? 

Hkl. He wished to do so, Mr. Middleton, and when 
rejected he made use of threats both towards my uncle and 
myself. 


THE GOLDEN PLOUGH. 


41 


Mid. Is that a portrait of Arthur Peyton ? ( shews sketch ) 

H el. Oh, no, that is not Major Peyton. 

Mid. You are quite sure, I suppose? 

Hel. Quite sure. 

Mid. Would you know him, do you think, if you were to 
Bee him ? 

Hel. Certainly I should know him. 

Mid. (aside) Shadrac Jones, the cleverest of all clever 
rascals, is still at laige. ( Limelight on. Aloud) Well, Doctor, 
have you seen the prisoner? 

Doc. I left him but an hour ago. Poor fellow ! He seems 
very downhearted, but asserts his innocence stoutly, and 
certainly his story about the notes seems very probable. 

Mid. If anyone else were guilty why should not Mrs. 
Royal speak and save her daughter's sweetheart? Indeed, 
who else is there who could have done the deed in whom she 
feels more interest than she does in Tom Carroll, unless, for 
instance, it were in her adopted son, Mr. Preston. 

Hel. (indignantly) Mr. Middleton, pray do not forget that 
Mr. Preston is my future husband. 

Mid. I beg pardon, Miss Claude, I beg pardon. I had 
forgotten that, (aside to Harris) I never like to talk 
business to women ; they always fly into such tantrums. 
(aloud) Come, to work, to work, Harris ! 

(Exit, folloived by Harris through gate) 

Hel. Imagine, Doctor, this Mr. Middleton daring to cast 
even a shadow of t doubt on Mr. Preston. 

Doc. Ah, my dear Miss Claude, these Bow Street runners 
are no respecters of persons. 

Hel. But Martin, at least, should be above suspicion ; his 
sacred calling should make him so. 

Enter Middleton, Harris, and Jerry Drake, through door 
f in hedge at back. 

Jer. (carrying lantern) Ha ! ha ! ha ! Oh ! oh ! oh ! This 
is delicious, this is charming, this is absolutely romantic. 
Gentlemen, I’ve half a mind to join the service myself. Oh ! 
oh ! oh ! 

Mid. Nothing in the stables evidently. 

Jer. ( flourishes lantern round by Martin’s cottage) Hulloa, 
what’s that ? 

Mid. What’s what ? 

Jer. Something bright among the grass. 

Mid. So there is. A piece of brass, (stoops down by portico 
and picks it up) As I live, it is the window-fastener. 

Har, You don’t say so ? 








42 


THE HOLDEN PLOTJGTJ. 


Mid. I do indeed; we must search further about here, 

Jer. Oil, happy thought ! 

Mid. What is it ? 

Jer. Search the old well. 

Mid. Which old well ? 

Jer. There is one beneath this stone, (taps stone with his 
foot) 

Mid. Good idea ! Harris, get a crowbar or something of 
the kind to raise it. 

Har. I daresay they haven’t such a thing in the house. 

(Exit into Inn , l. 1 e.) 

Jer. So, after all, Mr. Middleton, the man you took into 
custody wasn’t Shadrac Jones. 

Mid. It seems not. 

Jer. And what do you think has become of him ? 

Mid. I should imagine lie is in prison somewhere or we 
should have heard of him before now. 

Jer. Hid you ever see him ? 

Mid. It appears not. 

Jer. How long is it since he was in London, do you say ? 
when he paid his addresses to Miss Claude, and went by the 
name of Arthur Peyton ? 

Mid. About two years. 

Jer. Humph ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! Oh ! oh ! oh ! (laugh* 

very convulseclly) 

Mid. What is the matter now, Mr. Drake? What are 
you laughing at ? 

Jer. Only a funny idea—a very funny idea. Ha ! ha ! 
ha ! Oh ! oh ! oh ! 

Mid. What is it? What is it? Speak out. 

Jer. There is a person at this moment, not far from you, 
who was in London two years ago, who fell in love with 
Miss Claude ; and who, for aught you know, may be the 
veritable Shadrac Jones, alias Arthur Peyton. 

Mid. Whom on earth do you mean ? 

Jer. Whom do I mean ? Can’t you guess ? No ? Then 
I’ll tell you. The Reverend Martin Preston. Ha! ha! ha! 
Oh ! oh ! oh ! 

JRe-enter Harris with crowbar. 

Har. This will move the stone, I think, (crosses to n.) 

Jer. (taking crowbar ) Move a stone ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! Why, 
it would move a house. (Music. liaises stone. Harris holds it 1 
up when raised. Jerry places crowbar against tree , c. Mid- It 
dleton looks into well , throwing light of lantern into it) 

Mid. Dear me, it’s uot more than six or seven feet deep, and c 





THE GOLDEN PLOUGH. 


43 


quite dry too. I can see the bottom plainly. No, there is 
nothing there. Gently, gently, ( music stops) Harris, that’s 
it, down with the stone. Now for the schoolmaster’s cot¬ 
tage. (Harris crosses , l. and up) 

Jer. Well, realty, do you Know, I don’t think I’m justified 
in accompanying you into his house. Besides, I feel a chill, 
and want a mug of spiced ale to pull me together. 

Mid. Very well, do as you please. 

Jer. When are you going to examine the inn ? 

Mid. Directly after the cottage. We shall commence at 
the cellars and work up to the attics. 

Jer. Oh ! oh ! oh ! just like moles. Begin at the bottom 
and finish at the top. Oh ! oh ! oh ! {going towards 
Inn meets Mrs. Boyal ; suddenly stops laughter and passes 
her) 

Mrs. It. Mr. Middleton, I hear from the ostler that you 
have taken the keys. 

Mid. Yes, Mrs. Boyal, by virtue of this warrant. By-the- 
bye, Harris, just lock that garden door, {give s keys to Har¬ 
ris, who goes up and locks garden door in hedge) I told Peter 
I would see all property fastened up to-night. (Mrs. Boyal 
has seated herself under tree) Do you not feel the air chilly ? 

Mrs. B. Not unpleasantly so. 

Middleton knocks at door of Martin’s cottage. 

Mrs. B. What are you about to do, Mr. Middleton? 

Mid. Search Mr. Preston’s house. 

Mrs. B. {aside) If I should be too late ! 

Martin appears at door of cottage with keys. 

Mar. What is it you wish, gentlemen ? 

Mid. To search your house and premises. Here is our 
i warrant. 

Mar. The warrant is quite unnecessary; make what search 
you please. Here are my keys, {crosses to c. and hack to R.) 

Mid. Thank you. Come, Harris. 

They exeunt into cottage. Martin crosses to R., and is 
about to follow. 

Mrs. B. Martin ! Martin ! 

Mar. {returning) Yes, Mrs. Boyal. 

Mrs. B. From the readiness with which you gave up your 
keys, I suppose you have taken good care not to have any¬ 
thing about your premises likely to incriminate you. 

Mar. Mrs. Boyal, you surety do not suspect me of having 
committed this crime ? 

Mrs. B. No—I do not suspect you. 





44 


THE GOLDEN PLOUGH. 


Mar. Well, that at least is satisfactory. 

Mrs. R. Very. No, Martin Preston, I lo not suspect 
you, for the simple reason that suspicion in this case would 
bo ridiculous ; 1 do not suspect you, Martin Preston, because 
I know you are guilty. 

Mar. What do you mean, Mrs. Royal ? 

Mrs. R. Oh, with me, at least, abandon all paltry subter¬ 
fuge. You know, as well as I do, that you killed Sir Francis 
Claude, aye, as surely as you killed the old Squire. Did you 
not hear what the Doctor said ? The same hand, the same 
knife, the same man had slain them both ; and that man was 
you, Martin Preston. You were the only one who had any 
ill feeling to the old Squire—you were the only one who would 
benefit by Sir Francis Claude’s untimely death ; and without 
remorse you robbed them both of life. You desired, craved, 
hungered for wealth, love, and name ; they are now within 
your reach, and the price you pay is the loss of your eternal 
soul. 

Mar. (very quietly) Were you my judge, Mrs. Royal, my 
chance of a fair trial, I am afraid, would be small. 

Mrs. R. Oh, Mr. Preston, you are an accomplished 
hypocrite, for you stand calm and unmoved in the very 
presence of a witness of your deeds, whilst she recounts your 
crimes ; I compliment you on your possession. Your nerves 
and your heart, it seems, are alike—iron ! 

Mar. I thank Heaven, Mrs. Royal, that at a moment like 
this I do retain the full command of body and mind. I have 
listened to your terrible accusation with amazement, and I 
now ask you to tell me dispassionately on what grounds you 
make that accusation ? 

Mrs. R. Because I saw you escaping red-handed from the 
room, the knife in your hand; I saw you, just as you aie 
now, with your long fair hair, and dressed in the clothes you 
now w'ear. Your face, from shame or fear, you hid from 
me ; but your voice I heard as plainly as I heard it but now ; 
for you threatened to kill me too if I detained you. 

Mar. T solemnly swear it was not me whom you saw. 

Mrs. R. Oh, would to Heaven that were possible ; for the 
man whom you slew last night was your own father. 

Mar. My father ! 

Mrs. R. Yes ; and she who now accuses you is—to her 
shame and horror—your mother ! 

Mar. Merciful Providence ! 

Mrs. R. Ah, at last you tremble. 

Mar. Oh, Mrs. Royal—mother—since you tell me you are 
my motlier—do not mistake my prostration for an ackuow- 




THE GOLDEN PLOUGH. 


45 


ledgment of guilt. I tell you— I who have never lied— I 
am innocent. 

Mrs. R. My ears and eyes are not to he deceived by your 
tongue. 

Mar. Will nothing convince you ? 

Mrs. R. Nothing—knowing what I knew. 

Mar. And you intend to openly accuse me—to denounce 

me ? 

Mrs. R. Ah, the craven comes out at last i No, I will 
not accuse you, for the last words of the dying man were, 
“ Promise me never to tell who killed me.” I promised, and 
my promise shall be sacred. That is my duty to the dead ; 
but there are the living who claim my help. An innocent 
man is accused, and his life is in jeopardy. That man is the 
beloved of my daughter, of your half-sister, Martin, and that 
man’s lifemust be saved. The law requires a victim—a victim 
is ready ! I will die to save him, to save my daughter, and to 
save you, Martin Preston. Promise not to speak of love to 
Helen Claude, and your life, your wretched life, is safe. Tell 
me quickly where you have hidden the knife, where you 
have put the pocket-book, and I will at once place them in 
my room where they shall be found by the searchers ; I shall 
be arrested, I shall seem guilty, for I will utter no word in 
my own defence. I am ready to take your place—to suffer in 
your stead. Quick! quick! They are returning. Oh, why 
do you not speak ? Tell me—tell me—where have you put 
the proofs ? Tell me, I implore, tell me, Martin, Martin, 
my son ! Oh ! speak ! speak !—I entreat! 

Mar. You truly believe me guilty? 

Mrs. R. Oh, was'e not precious time. 

Mar. You saw me leave the room ? 

Mrs. R. Why these useless questions ? 

Mar. You say you promised Sir Francis never to breathe 
my name. 

Mrs. R. Oh, remember, Martin, if I die, but one dies. If 
Tom Carroll dm 3 , two die ; and one of those two your sister 
—my child. Martin, where have you placed the fatal 
weapon ? speak ! (suddenly changing her imploring tone to one 
of despair ) Oh, I begin to see your terrible meaning now. 
Knowing that I shall not accuse you, and being sure that 
without the knife I, your mother, cannot be convicted, you 
will remain silent, and let Tom Carroll suffer for your crime. 
Martin Preston, is there no limit to your villainy ? 

Enter Middleton and Harris. 

Mar. You shall learn. 

Mrs. R. (aside) What is he about to do ? 





46 


THE GOLDEN PLOUGH. 


Mar. You have thoroughly searched my house, Mr. 
Middleton ? 

Mid. Every inch of it, I believe ; and we have found 
nothing. 

Mar. As I expected. Gentlemen, I freely confess that I, 
and I alone, murdered Sir Francis Claude. 



Mrs. Royal, with a groan, sinks at base of tree. 

Mar. Mrs. Royal saw me commit the crime. Tom Carroll 
is innocent. ( goes to door of cottage, and locks it) 

Mid. Is Drake right? Can this be Shadrac Jones? Oh, 
impossible ! 

Mar. ( gives keys to Middleton) Now, gentlemen, if you 
will release your prisoner, I will take his place. 

Harris exits into Inn. Middleton and Martin going; 
Martin turns and goes to Mrs. Royal. Middleton 
remains on steps of Inn. 

Mar. (to Mrs. .Royal, who sits still with a stony manner) 
Mother—for that you are my mother I do not doubt—nay, as 
I have grown older I have been almost sure of it, for none 
but a mother could have cared for me as you have, could 
have loved me as you have, and I thank you for the past. You 
have called me an assassin, I have been unable to convince 
you that I am innocent. You have pronounced me a coward, 
I have proved to yon that you are wrong. Good night, 
mother, (stoops and kisses her. Then exits quickly through Inn, 
followed by Middleton) 

Mrs. R. (rousing herself) Martin! Martin! Remember I 
offered to take your place. Remember I did not speak, ’twas 
you ! I would have saved him, I am powerless now. His 
blood be on his own head. I am finished now, I can do no 
more, (sinks sobbing on side portico on cottage steps, quite in 
the shadow) I would have died for him, and what can I hope 
for now better than death ! 

Very mysterious music ; Jerry, dressed exactly like Martin, 
black clothes, long fair wig, hat drawn over face, and 
lower part of face muffled, appears at window, over bay 
window of Inn; peers out cautiously, and then, as though 
satisfied the garden is empty, disappears; then re-appears 
and drops a black bag. The noise of the bag falling makes 
Mrs. Royal start and turn. 

Mrs. R. What was that '( 



THE GOLDEN PLOUGH, 


47 


Jerry re-appears, looks out cautiously, and then commences 
to descend, his back being now turned to Mrs. Royal; 
Mrs. Royal rises and goes towards tree. When Jerry 
has nearly reached the ground, drops down; Mrs. 
Royal crouches behind tree and is hidden by garden 
seat. Jerry crosses rapidly and stealthily, listens at 
Martin’s door, recrosses to Inn, pauses and listens, then 
suddenly darts to bench, seizes crowbar, and raises well 
stone, props it up by means of bar, quickly goes to get 
black bag and is returning with it when Mrs. Royal, who 
has risen, confronts him. 

Mrs. R. Martin ! How have you escaped, Martin ? (Jerry 
darts back ; she looks intently at him ; he keeps his face down and 
hat over eyes) You are not Martin—your figure is not the 
same! Great Providence, wliat can this mean? I will know 
who you are ! 

A ttempts to drag off his hat; lie throws clown black bag and 
pidls out a large white-handled knife, same as used in 
Act II. ; is about to attack her. Mrs. Royal recoils to 
well and seizes crowbar, pulls it away and stone falls. 
“Help! Help!” Jerry is about to raise the knife to 
strike her; she hits him with crowbar on arm; he with a 
scream of pain drops knife. Voices heard off r. “ Help ! 
help! help!” She seizes Jerry. Jerry iv re nches him¬ 
self from her grasp, makes a dash at door in hedge, finds 
it locked ; cry of rage ; rushes at door of cottage, finds 
that locked; then across stage to l., and is about to clash 
into Inn when he is seized in the arms of Middleton. 

Mrs. R. Don’t let him escape ! He has attempted my life. 

Enter Carroll and Doctor from Inn. 

Mid. How came yoU here, Mr. Preston? I left you but 
this moment with Joe Harris. 

Enter Harris and Martin. 

Har. I heard cries for help. 

Mid. Why, here is Mr. Preston—who is this? (tears off 
hat ) Jerry Drake ! (chord) 

Enter May and Helen, r. 

Mrs. R. Mr. Drake ! Yes, it was from his own room 1 
saw him descend. He was about to throw that bag into the 
well, when I confronted him, and he tried to strike me with 
Uiat knife when f defended myself with this bar. 








48 


THE GOLDEN FLOUGH. 


Tom, {picking up knife) Wliy, this is tho very knife poor 
Joe Trimmer was supposed to have stolen. 

Mid. Let us examine the bag. {rummages it) By all that’s 
marvellous, a miller’s suit, and stained with blood. Doctor, 
you were right; the same lusnd committed both crimes, and 
it was the hand of this Jerry Drake ! Joe Trimmer is inno¬ 
cent. 

Doc. And thank Heaven it is not too late to obtain a 
reprieve. 

Mrs. It. Oh, Martin, it was this wretched man then whom 
I saw last night escaping fiom the window. Can you forgive 
me for my cruelty ? 

Mar. But you said you heard my voice ? 

Mid. You heard a voice which you thought was Mr. 
Preston’s, {to Jerry) Come, my friend, a strange light is 
beginning to dawn upon me. {seizes him by the arm roughly) 

Jer. Take care, my arm’s broken. 

Mi d. {takes lantern, throws light full on J erry’s face, which 
now wears an expression of hatred and despair) They say that 
tho man who is called the cleverest thief in England can 
imitate the cry of any animal, the song of any bird, or 
the voice of any human being to perfection, {he seizes the 
fair wig and pidls it violently off, reveals the short black hair of 
a convict type) 

Hel. {in amazement) Arthur Peyton! 

Mid. {crosses to l.) Arthur Peyton ? Then this time fuere 
is no mistake ; you are caught at last, Shadrac Jones, and 
this time it is a rope, Shadrac, it is a rope. 

Jer. {with fury) Yes, Helen Claude, I am Arthur Peyton, 
alias Shadrac Jones. I told you I would be revenged on 
both your uncle and on my rival; I have but half kept my 
word. My revenge would have been complete if I could 
have enmeshed and hanged Martin Preston. Yes, {laughs 
bitterly) Shadrac Jones, who has defied and defeated every 
runner at Bow Street, is captured at last, and by the hand of 
a woman. 

Mrs. It. No, Shadrac Jones, by the hand of Providence. 


{music.) 


Curtain. 


Harris, 



Mr3. R. Jerry. 


Middleton. 

Doctor 


Tom and May. 




One copy del. to Cat. Div. 


SEP 6 Wits 



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J. B. RICHARDSON’S 

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